


Between Stars (False Vacuum)

by ZombieCheeze



Category: iKON (Kpop)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cock & Ball Torture, Fluffy Marshmallow Ending, Forced Orgasm, Frottage, Japanese Rope Bondage, Kink Negotiation, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Master/Pet, Open Marriage, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Paddling, Partner Swapping, Platonic BDSM, Polyamory, Safeword Use, Sensation Play, Spanking, Threesome - M/M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension, jun-HOE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-23
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-08-16 10:13:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 117,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8098204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZombieCheeze/pseuds/ZombieCheeze
Summary: The trouble with the proverbial rabbit hole is that the deeper you go, the darker it is--and it’s easy to lose sight of the rabbit.





	1. Prologue / Chapter 1: Scream

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! Here's a bit of what I've been working on behind the scenes...I'm going to try hard to update at least once every couple of weeks. <3 This is kind of an AU expansion of Black and Blue/Armor (Up/Off). I hope you guys enjoy it, I know I sure am so far! :D
> 
> I'll be adding tags as relevant for each chapter, so as not to give away too many spoilers. 
> 
> As always, many thanks to Katzengefluster for being my muse. <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting sliiiiightly early ;) <3 I'm loving the response this is receiving, thank you guys so much!
> 
> ALSO! I moved the Prologue into Chapter 1, so that it is congruent with the actual chapter numbering capes of AO3.

**Prologue**

 

Not all love stories are equal.

 

And all love is not the same.

 

Love is so messy, richly complicated, deeply profound; it can be discovered in the strangest of places and may take any number of forms at once, encompass any number of people, and remove those old roadblocks of reason and sanity.

 

Bobby, however, isn’t thinking about that at all right now.

 

Sugar, sweetness, a bite of chocolate sitting heavy and syrupy on his tongue, rapidly melting in the rush of saliva and the heat of his mouth.

 

He’s got a forgotten half of a softening candy bar held in one hand, his mouth full but hand paused halfway to his face because he can’t remember if he’s taking a bite or has just taken one, and he’s staring blankly back at a blushing, embarrassed Hanbin.  He supposes he should be grateful he isn’t choking on the goddamn thing, not with that little bombshell Hanbin just dropped on him.

 

So he chews and swallows before answering, carefully considering his response before finally blurting out an abrupt, “I’m sorry, you want to what?”

 

“You heard me.” Hanbin says, gnawing on his lower lip sulkily.  His face is flushed with humiliation, and he fidgets uncomfortably under Bobby’s disbelieving gaze.  More than anything, Hanbin doesn’t want to repeat himself, but Bobby _does_ want to hear this again.  Oh boy, does he ever.

 

“Well, yeah, I did,” Bobby says, opening his mouth to take another bite before thinking better of it.  Maybe this is a conversation better held without distractions.  “I just wanted to hear you say it again.”

 

Hanbin shakes his head.  His face is still burning, mortified, and he won’t quite meet Bobby’s eyes, gaze instead fixing somewhere near his elbow.  Bobby wonders what the hell there is to be so abashed about, while Hanbin’s hands twist together in his agitation, picking at his fingernails.

 

After all, asking for _this_ is—on the scale of sexy things to ask one’s longtime partner about—approximately on par with announcing that one has taken up golfing:  Maybe a bit surprising at first, but really, what’s the big deal?

 

“I just wanted to tell you.  Something I wanted to try.” Hanbin hedges Bobby’s half-question awkwardly, his face so red Bobby can almost feel the waves of heat coming off of him. “But don’t feel pressured, I just thought I’d—”

 

“Hanbin, relax.” Bobby says calmly.  “If you’re interested, I’m interested.  I mean,” He shrugs lightly, considering the matter with pursed lips, “I don’t _think_ it’s my thing, but if that’s what you want, I promise you I’m okay with it, and I’ll do it and like it.  It’s not like you’re begging me for a threesome here.  It’s _alright_.”

 

Hanbin smiles for the first time, awkward and shy.  Bobby had forgotten how Hanbin used to look like that when Mino had introduced them all that time ago, how all their dates used to start with Hanbin looking like that—right up until their eighth date.  Bobby had fucked Hanbin silly for the first time that night, in Hanbin’s old apartment with the windows wide open.  

 

 _That_ had cured him of a great deal of his shyness.

 

But it’s endearing to see a little fragment of the shy, sweet Hanbin still there.  Hanbin’s like a beehive—once Bobby had gotten past the sting (and what a sting it was), he’d discovered nothing but honey beneath, and he’s made peace with the bees down the years.

 

Hanbin takes a deep breath, still not quite able to look Bobby in the eye, so Bobby takes it upon himself.  He reaches out, tipping Hanbin’s head up to look at him, and Hanbin offers him a small, embarrassed smile.

 

“Don’t be embarrassed, babe.” Bobby presses him gently.  “Tell me what it is you want.  I want to make you happy.”

 

Hanbin’s eyes flick downward, mumbling, and Bobby nudges him on the chin to regain his attention, leaning forward to hold his gaze intently.  He still can’t quite meet Bobby’s eye, and Bobby slips his hand encouragingly around the back of Hanbin’s neck, thumb resting along the line of Hanbin’s jaw.  “Oh my god, Jiwon, _no,_ this is so _embarrassing_.  Forget it, okay?”

 

“Tell hyung _exactly_ what you want.” Bobby says softly, grinning, and Hanbin’s eyes slide shut, distracted by Bobby’s tone of voice.  It’s almost a command, _almost_ , but one so softly given it doesn’t seem like one, and it does the trick better than either of them realize; Hanbin licks his lips, sucking the lower one into his mouth to gnaw on it anxiously, still hesitating.

 

“I want you to tie me up.”

 

Bobby grins, and then he kisses Hanbin.  

 

He’d meant the kiss to be soft, a kind of reward, a little nonverbal _thank you_ to Hanbin for his honesty.  But somewhere between his brain and his mouth, the signal gets corrupted, and while _tenderness_ was the input, what comes out is _aggression._  Lips and tongue and then teeth join the fray, into something rough and hungry that elicits an urgent little whine from Hanbin, and maybe—just maybe—Bobby’s more excited than he anticipated.  

 

It’s hard to pinpoint what did it, though, and looking back on it later, he won’t remember what exactly set him off—Hanbin’s nervous little lip bite, the soft way the words leave his mouth on the rush of his exhalation; or if it’s afterward, later, when Hanbin’s tied hands and Bobby’s mouth on his skin bring all Hanbin’s nerves to the surface in protest, and rising along with them the volume of his increasingly wild moans.

 

Hanbin’s eyes remain closed when Bobby leans back a little, and the flush of his cheeks has a different quality now—more like arousal.  Bobby catches himself gripping Hanbin’s hair more tightly than he intends, but he’s also finding that Hanbin seems to _like_ it.  Hanbin smiles at Bobby from beneath half-closed eyes, full lower lip caught between his teeth again, and this smile is one Bobby doesn’t quite understand yet.  In time, he’ll begin to recognize it for what it is, but for now…

 

“Well,” Bobby murmurs with a grin, sounding more confident than he feels, but full of a thrumming urgency he can’t seem to smother, “why wait?”

 

“Wait, you mean right now?” Hanbin blinks in surprise, as if suddenly waking out of a trance, “With what?”

 

Bobby chuckles.  “Oh, I’m sure I can think of something.  I’m very creative.”

 

**Chapter 1: Scream**

 

Summer in Seoul is desperately hot, sickeningly so. Passengers half-stuck to vinyl train seats struggle to their feet and drag themselves out into the sweltering air, only to scald themselves on handrails or plastic bike seats left to bake in the sun. The sidewalks and roadways shimmer in heat haze, and those forced out into said heat in their black suits and business clothes (so neat, so flattering, so ill-adapted to this gruelingly sultry weather) dream longingly of the shade. Sometimes cars speeding by provide the taste of a tantalizing breeze, but more often than not, simply venturing across the street for lunch or to commute home becomes a trial of endurance.

 

The miserable heat reminds Bobby of summer in America, and he complains loudly of it to Hanbin, who’s too drowsy and uncomfortable to do much more than grunt his acknowledgement of Bobby’s words, contributing only noise and carbon dioxide to the one-sided conversation. The humidity chokes all the zeal out of anything with a pulse so effectively that Hanbin nods off on the train back home.

 

Bobby, still telling stories about his sweaty, overheated childhood in rural Virginia, doesn’t notice until Hanbin’s head droops onto his shoulder.

 

Both of them are eager to get back to the apartment, where there’s at least air conditioning and privacy, and shower off the evidence of their sweaty adventure. Bobby folds his arms, tapping his foot impatiently as Hanbin sluggishly checks the mail in the first-floor foyer, impatient to wash off and staring bad-temperedly up the winding staircase to their fourth-floor apartment.

 

“Come _on_ , Hanbin, I’m going to melt if I spend any more time out here.” Bobby says as Hanbin dawdles, inspecting the day’s mail.

 

“Is this what you earthlings call _heat_?” Hanbin rolls his eyes. “It’s all you’ve talked about for the last two hours. I _noticed_ it’s hot, Jiwon.”

 

“Damn right it is.” Bobby says.

 

The climb seems longer than ever, and the heat is smothering, but the inside of the apartment is blessedly, deliciously cool. Bobby heaves a huge sigh of pleasure as he closes the door behind Hanbin, leaning against the wall and closing his eyes as he slides slowly down onto the floor. “Ah, that’s better.”

 

Hanbin sinks into an armchair, wiping his forehead with a hand. “I’m going to start getting groceries in the middle of the fucking night.” He says acidly, beginning to flip through the mail again more attentively. “I don’t even care that the electric bill is going to be sky-high this month. That air conditioner was the best money we’ve ever spent.”

 

Bobby retrieves himself a soda from the fridge, and after a moment’s consideration, he grabs another and hands it to Hanbin, who takes it and presses the ice-cold surface against his flushed cheek, humming with pleasure.

 

“What’s in the mail?” Bobby says, asking more out of habit than curiosity.

 

“Just junk so far.” Hanbin says, ripping open an envelope and shaking out the sheet inside before tossing it aside with a snort. “Credit cards, advertisements, spend money, money, money…” He says irritably, setting several envelopes aside before tearing open the last one.

 

He reads this one swiftly, and then with a little muffled noise of surprise and frustration, he reads it again, more carefully.

 

Bobby’s so attuned to Hanbin by virtue of long exposure, and it’s plain as anything to him that whatever Hanbin’s reading isn’t a good thing, his lower lip between his teeth as his eyes flit back and forth on the page. Hanbin is agitated, tension drawing him up tight, and Bobby can feel it playing on his nerves like a cat sharpening its claws. He sits up, puzzled.

 

“What is it?”

 

Hanbin’s quiet for a moment, still gnawing his lower lip. “It’s—they’re raising our rent, Jiwon.” He says distractedly, handing Bobby the page, his eyebrows still furrowed. He’s dismayed, alarmed, but it hasn’t really set in yet.

 

“Property taxes?” Bobby says, reading off the page. “But…”

 

“More like they got annoyed with all that noise you make.” Hanbin says facetiously, and though his tone is joking, his expression falls into lines of unhappiness.

 

“My noise? More like your noise. After all this time, I finally learned you were a screamer.”

 

“Shut up! I told you, Jiwon—”

 

“La la la, don’t ruin this for me. I rather like the idea of myself as some kind of Sex God, and I won’t have you spoiling the illusion.”

 

“Oh, far be it from me to stamp on your ego.” Hanbin says acidly.

 

“Anyway, what’s the big deal with this?” Bobby waves the sheet of paper in his hand. Hanbin huffs.

 

“We really can’t afford this!” Hanbin says, taking the sheet back from Bobby and reading it again, raking a hand through his sweaty hair in exasperation. “Our budget was already a little tight this month, and I put what was left over toward the power bill we’re going to get for running the A/C so much.”

 

Hanbin begins to pace, and Bobby can see him working himself into a frenzy, fussing over the state of the money. Hanbin’s a naturally fretful kind of person, and he’s sensitive to the heat besides—which only serves to make things more volatile. Bobby knows he’s only got a brief window in which he can step in and defuse the situation, or at least minimize blast damage.

 

“Hanbin, calm down.” Bobby says, standing up and taking the sheet from him. Hanbin shakes his head in frustration, but Bobby gently shakes Hanbin by the shoulders to get his attention. “Get a grip, babe. It’s not that much, and we’ll just reorganize a little. I’ll even sit with you and help, okay? It’s not the end of the world.”

 

“Jiwon, we make enough to cover the bills, but this is just a little more than I feel comfortable trying to manage.”

 

“We could get a roommate.” Bobby says, holding Hanbin at arm’s length.

 

“We could.” Hanbin concedes, sighing irritably, “But…”

 

“Don’t shoot the idea down right now, Hanbin. We have options here, let’s not be too hasty to say no to something without considering it.”

 

Hanbin’s jerky nod tells Bobby he’s only half-listening. “Did you ever hear back about the other job?”

 

Bobby grimaces. “No.”

 

“I can’t understand why.”

 

“Hanbin, I don’t do _that_ badly.”

 

“No, I know…but Jiwon, it’s not very…”

 

“I _know_.” Bobby says impatiently, dropping his hands from Hanbin’s shoulders.

 

Hanbin rubs his forehead in frustration. “I’m not trying to get you to quit. But it’s time for you to ask for a raise, babe; you’re a sound tech but it’s time for them to stop paying you like a janitor, especially now that Yang’s got you producing as often as not. You should be earning a lot more for the kind of hours and skill you put in.”

 

Bobby turns away, walking across the kitchen away from Hanbin, and Hanbin catches his sullenness in the stubborn set of his shoulders, the arch of his neck as he browses moodily through the fridge without replying.

 

Hanbin is _right_ , however, so he doesn’t apologize.

 

“The reality is, Jiwon, those peanuts they’re paying you aren’t paying the bills. Until you start getting royalties, which I'm not convinced Yang is gonna pay you, or start pushing for a raise, this is going to be an issue. I need you to start thinking about making what you’re worth, not just what you feel you owe loyalty to because Yang’s your college buddy. He pays you less for that reason, because he can get away with it, but you’re good enough to earn quite a bit more, or move to a bigger company.”

 

"Don’t you think I’m doing the best I can?” Bobby snaps, rounding on Hanbin.

 

 _Two._ “No, I don’t!” Hanbin says crossly, volume rising. Bobby’s expression crumples, but Hanbin’s finally goaded beyond his patience. “If you were, you wouldn’t be working for next to nothing!”

 

“I know I don’t earn as much as you do, Hanbin, but I can’t help that!”

 

“Yes, you can! I need you to start putting yourself first, and me! Not Yang!”

 

 _One_. “I do put you first!” Bobby says angrily. “All the fucking time!”

 

 _Zero_. Hanbin detonates. “Then maybe it’s time you started acting like it!” He shouts.

 

Bobby’s mouth slams closed, and something in his expression goes waxen as he shuts down. Hanbin puts his hands on the table, then looks up at Bobby doggedly, his heart thumping, already regretting his loss of temper.

 

“Jiwon, I—”

 

Bobby’s silent, breathing hard though his nose, his expression wooden. He brushes past Hanbin without looking at him and disappears into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him rather harder than necessary.

 

Instantly boiling with rage once more, though now with a wash of guilt and hurt heavy in his stomach, Hanbin throws himself into the dining room chair, putting his head down on the table to cool his heated face. They’ve had this discussion before, although this is the first time it’s erupted into a full-on argument, and Hanbin’s frustration with it has his teeth grinding.

 

He digs out his accounting books, desperate to distract himself and calm the pounding headache that’s developing out of the mass of anger still clogging his throat. He throws himself into the calming nonsense of math with relief, scribbling down figures and crossing them out again. It’s a sort of meditation, and in the focus of the numbers, his anger dissipates, though the tension remains in his shoulders and neck.

 

Bobby calls him crazy for it, but math makes _sense_ to Hanbin, and when he sits back in the chair an hour later, he’s reassured in more ways than one. He’d somehow found a place to move money around, and they’ll make it—by the hide off their asses, admittedly, but it’ll do. Hanbin closes his books with the sense of incredulous relief one associates with skydiving (though with measurably less adrenaline); terrifying in execution, but essentially harmless in principle.

 

He stands up and stretches, pushing his books away as he does so, and brews two cups of tea in the kitchen. Bobby won’t touch his out of spite, not until they’ve talked it out; and Hanbin won’t touch his own, either, too unhappy to drink. It doesn’t matter. A peace offering is a peace offering.

 

Hanbin balances both cups carefully in one hand, tapping on the bedroom door with the other. “Can I come in, Jiwon?”

 

“Yeah.” Bobby says.

 

Hanbin sets Bobby’s cup on the bedside table before closing the door behind him to keep the tension in the room contained. Bobby’s playing with his phone, his red-rimmed eyes fixed intently on the screen, emphatically not looking at Hanbin. He does, however, move over to make room for Hanbin on the bed, and Hanbin sits down gingerly on the edge, cradling his hot teacup between both hands.

 

“What are you playing?” Hanbin says, in a brave attempt to dispel the strain in the room.

 

“ _Pokemon_.” Bobby replies flatly.

 

“I’m sorry, Jiwon.”

 

Bobby ignores this, but Hanbin expects him to. He’d thought quite a bit about this while working, and he’d realized rather belatedly that he’d insulted Bobby’s pride in the insinuation that he wasn’t pulling his weight. In much the same way that a bandage won’t heal an injury unless it’s applied to the wound itself, a simple apology isn’t going to heal that kind of insult in a moment, not without a focus.

 

“Will you talk with me about this?”

 

“Okay.” Bobby says, finally setting his phone to the side, and Hanbin holds his hand out to Bobby, palm up, an offering. Bobby hesitates for a second before sliding his fingers into Hanbin’s, and Hanbin squeezes his fingers. Both of them understand that this is a state of conciliation.

 

“Let me say my piece, and then you can go, okay?”

 

“Okay.” Bobby says again.

 

“What I wanted to say, and said wrongly, is that you don’t get paid what you’re worth, and that isn’t your fault, but you have control over where you work and what you do. I know it’s hard to put yourself out there like that, because you know Yang and it’s comfortable working there, but this situation doesn’t seem right. You’re smart, and you’re great at what you do, and you put in way more work than Yang has a right to ask of you.”

 

Bobby stares rigidly at the ceiling, his jaw working slowly with frustration, but Hanbin can tell he’s listening closely.

 

“It has nothing to do with you not pulling your weight, but your friendship is being taken advantage of. And as I’m practically your husband these days short of the paperwork, I think I have a right to ask you to consider looking for a better position, one that pays proportionally to the amount of work you put in. Not because I want your money but because I think you deserve better than what you’re getting.”

 

Bobby’s silent for a moment, nodding. “I understand.” He says quietly. “And I think you’re right.”

 

“I’m sorry for losing my temper.” Hanbin says earnestly, squeezing Bobby’s fingers.

 

“Me too.” Bobby says, playing awkwardly with Hanbin’s thumb in a sort of funny apology that almost makes Hanbin laugh.

 

“Are you willing to try to fix this?” Hanbin says instead.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Then I won’t say any more about it now.”

 

Bobby scoots over to make more room for Hanbin on the bed, and Hanbin sets his untouched tea down finally, lying down next to Bobby comfortably and folding his hands across his belly.

 

Bobby tips his head against Hanbin’s shoulder, sighing. “Sorry.” He says again.

 

“Gimme a kiss, and I’ll forgive you.” Hanbin says, looking over at him, and Bobby gives him a little smile in return before screwing up his face and pursing his lips. Hanbin rolls his eyes, but kisses him anyway. “Hmm, I don’t think that one took.” He says, rolling onto his side to slip a hand around the back of Bobby’s neck. “Let’s try again.”

 

Bobby kisses him properly this time, and Hanbin hums. “Much better.”

 

“Good, because I’m not about to be extorted by you.” Bobby teases, kissing Hanbin again, and then again just because he enjoys it.

 

“You call this extortion? I thought you were just being generous.” Hanbin teases back.

 

“You’re an accountant. You should know there’s no such thing as a free lunch.”

 

They lie together, comfortably silent for a few minutes, gathering their strength. Finally Bobby says, “I gotta ask, though. What do you have against getting a roommate?”

 

“Well, honestly, we’ve been on our own for so long that it’d be weird having a stranger in the house, you know?” Hanbin says. “We’d have to keep _us_ quiet”—he sketches sarcastic air quotes around _us_ with his fingers—“and I’m not gonna lie, we’re a little too old to be going back to Narnia these days.”

 

“Nah. Just don’t make a fuss about it, don’t treat it like a big deal, and it won’t be.”

 

“You’re a big deal.” Hanbin retorts absently, toying with the seam on Bobby’s t-shirt.

 

“You’re _my_ big deal.” Bobby says, nuzzling Hanbin’s nose playfully.

 

“Nice, real smooth, Jiwon. Want some wine with that cheese?” Hanbin says, covering Bobby’s face with a hand to push him away. Bobby laughs, sticking his tongue between Hanbin’s fingers to make him shriek and yank his hand away in disgust.

 

“Honestly, Hanbin, it’s gonna be okay. I’ll talk to Yang tomorrow, I promise, I’ll do what you asked. I still stand by the roommate idea, though. In fact, I think we should do both, and make it that much easier. We can start actually saving some money if we do that.”

 

“Good point.” Hanbin says thoughtfully. “Only…”

 

“Okay, what else?”

 

Hanbin gives a flustered little half-smile, chuckling self-consciously. “If we have a roommate, that probably means no more kinky sex, either.”

 

“Not if you keep screaming.” Bobby says seriously. “I swear, I’ve never heard you make a noise like that…”

 

“Stop rubbing it in!” Hanbin says, covering his face. Bobby jostles him playfully, kissing his cheek. It’s as if the stress and hostility of their earlier argument never existed, dispelled like smoke in a breeze.

 

“It’ll be fine, kinky sex and all. I’ll just put a pillow over your face if you keep making loads of noise, but I have no intentions of stopping, I promise.”

 

“Why not just take this thing up a notch and buy a ball gag?” Hanbin says sardonically.

 

“Hold up, now there’s an idea…”


	2. Chapter 2: Crazy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not anticipating being able to update this quickly in the coming few chapters, but this one was finished and ready, so I hope you enjoy <3
> 
> Chapter note: light bondage and spanking.

Bobby places the ad at lunch on Monday.   _Single room for rent, $350/mo, no pets._  Not that Bobby and Hanbin don’t like animals; Bobby’s simply too allergic.  Either way, both of them are hopeful that they’ll have a taker by the end of the week.  It couldn’t be simpler, right?

 

Easy.

 

However, by dinnertime the day after the posting went up, he’s beginning to question the wisdom of their decision, and their optimism has been thoroughly dashed.  For starters, it seems as if every applicant is calling from the Center for Unreasonable People, and Bobby’s just about had it.

 

“I swear to god, Hanbin, if I get another phone call from someone demanding that I—that I fucking babysit their kids, or something stupid, I’m gonna—”

 

“Easy, Jiwon.” Hanbin soothes, “I’ll take the next one.”

 

“This sucks.”

 

The first caller had been quick off the mark, only half an hour after the advertisement had gone up; Bobby had answered the phone to a middle-aged lady who’d absolutely lost her mind when Bobby had reminded her they were renting a single, small room—not an entire apartment for her three children and dogs.  He’d hung up on her when she started screaming, but the leeriness had stuck with him for some time afterward, so that he hesitated every time his phone rang.

 

Afterward, one man had called, and he’d seemed polite and friendly until he mentioned he had a cat (at which point Bobby was forced to decline the application, citing his severe allergies).  That had prompted a highly uncomfortable fifteen-minute stringalong in which the man on the other end of the line cried hysterically, begging Bobby to reconsider.  Finally, Hanbin had been forced to take the phone away from Bobby and hang up.

 

There were a handful of less notable applicants—a man offering them half the asking rent; a woman looking to couch surf; one that seemed normal enough on the application, but had showed up to the interview twenty minutes late, disheveled and reeking of beer and body odor.

 

The phone rings on Wednesday afternoon, and Bobby says, “Hanbin, if this is another crazy fuck, I’m going to pull the ad.”

 

“Agreed.” Hanbin says, rubbing his forehead with ill-disguised impatience as Bobby answers the phone reluctantly.

 

Hanbin watches Bobby closely for signs of frustration, but this one, it seems, might be promising; Hanbin can hear a woman’s voice on the other end of the line, though he’s too far away to make her words out clearly.  Bobby lapses into English for a moment—Hanbin isn’t as practiced at English these days, and can’t quite keep up—but then he returns to his usual lax Korean.

 

“Alright, well, can we set up an interview?” Bobby says, catching Hanbin's eye.  Hanbin relaxes a little when Bobby flashes him a thumbs-up.

 

Bobby hangs up with a little smile.  “Well?” Hanbin says at once, eager and impatient.

 

“This one might be a winner.” Bobby says, satisfied as much as relieved, putting his phone facedown on the arm of the sofa.  “Her name’s Hong Younghee.  She’s here on exchange from the US, though I forgot to ask from where.  We’ll have an interview tomorrow, and as long as she’s not a complete weirdo, maybe this whole ordeal will be over with.”

 

“Ah, that explains the English.  I love it when you talk dirty.” Hanbin says lazily.  “But like you said, if this one doesn’t work out, I’m done trying to find the needle in the weirdo pile.”

 

*

 

The coffee shop on the corner provides the perfect meeting place, and Bobby and Hanbin go down the stairs at fifteen minutes to seven to meet Hong Younghee.

 

Bobby’s phone chimes in his pocket, and he fishes it out, peering at it curiously without slowing his stride.  “Another email applicant.  Well, we’ll see how this goes first.” He scrolls absently through the application, but doesn’t elaborate.  Hanbin doesn’t ask, either, already annoyed; he’d been in the middle of a good stew over the budget again when Bobby had interrupted him to go meet Younghee.

 

“You don’t want to go through this again?” Hanbin says, exasperated.  “It’s like you said, this is turning into more trouble than it’s worth, so if this lady isn’t the real deal, then…”

 

“I dunno.  I’m in kind of a good mood today, so maybe I’ll give it a shot.” Bobby hums, closing the email and shoving his phone back in his pocket.  Hanbin laughs; he’d given Bobby a blowjob on the couch not two hours earlier, so Bobby has good reason (in Hanbin’s opinion) to be cheerful.

 

“You’re _welcome_.” Hanbin mocks, softly punching Bobby’s elbow.  Bobby chuckles under his breath.

 

Hong Younghee is waiting for them at a table, and she waves at them cheerfully over her huge, sugary coffee.  She seems tall even though she’s sitting down, dark-haired and shockingly pretty; but her megawatt smile is a little overenthusiastic, a little _too_ perfectly white, making her look quietly deranged.  

 

But she introduces herself politely when they sit down with her, shaking hands firmly with both of them.   _Oh yeah_ , Bobby thinks, _definitely American_.

 

As the interview begins, it doesn’t take much effort on Bobby’s part to see that she’s already Hanbin’s fan; she hardly takes her eyes off him, even when Bobby speaks.  She laughs at Hanbin’s every comment, reaching across the table to touch his arm, all teasing words and suggestive little smiles.  

 

And although she’s beautiful and dazzlingly flirty, Bobby’s the skirt-chaser in this partnership, as it were.  Hanbin is flattered, but ultimately immune to her charms, and Bobby is spoken for—inoculated against any influence she could exert over him.

 

“Well, _babe_ , ready to give her a tour of the apartment so she can see what she’s renting?” Bobby says easily, looking along the table at Hanbin and slinging an arm around the back of his chair comfortably.  Hanbin’s eyebrows jump in surprise, but Bobby smirks back at him, and Hanbin understands that it was anything but accidental.

 

“Babe?” Younghee repeats, looking between Bobby and Hanbin, slowly making the connection.

 

“Sure, _honey_.” Hanbin says dryly, and he’s sure only Bobby catches the subtle sarcasm in his tone, because he laughs quietly to himself.

 

“Oh, um.” Younghee says abruptly, checking her watch.  “Actually, that’s…you know what?  I don’t think this is gonna be what I’m looking for.” She says, snatching up a her drink and a handful of napkins from the table.  “Thanks for your time.”

 

She leaves quickly, flushed in the face and painfully embarrassed, and Bobby and Hanbin share a glance before collapsing into peals of hysterical laughter.  “Holy shit, that was _terrible_ of us.” Bobby chokes, covering his mouth.

 

Hanbin is still chuckling as they get up to leave.  “Well, that nightmare is over.  What the hell, man, do you think she could’ve been any _less_ subtle?”

 

“I don’t think she was exactly looking for an _apartment_.  Pretty sure she wouldn’t have waited two seconds to jump on your dick.” Bobby says.

 

“Pretty sure?  You must think I’m brain-dead, Jiwon, she couldn’t have been more obvious if she screamed it in my face.”

 

“Oh, I don’t _think_ you’re brain-dead, Hanbin.  That’d make it an opinion, and I know it for a fact.  She _was_ quite good looking, though…”

 

“Yeah, but she was into _me_.” Hanbin says, poking Bobby in the back.  “No pussy for you, Jiwon.  You’re allergic.”

 

“Yeah, I break out in bite marks.” Bobby snorts.

 

“Sorry, Jiwon can't come to work today.  He's come down with a bad case of _this dick_.” Hanbin blows a raspberry at Bobby.

 

“Well, someone’s feisty today.  I haven’t heard you talk like that in years.” Bobby replies in an undertone, pulling Hanbin close with an arm around his shoulders as they walk.  “Besides, I can think of three better uses for that tongue.”  His lips touch Hanbin’s ear, and Hanbin pushes him away playfully, rubbing at the ticklish sensation Bobby’s mouth leaves behind.

 

“So what are you saying exactly?”

 

“Me?  Oh, nothing.” Bobby singsongs, holding open the entry door to the apartment complex for Hanbin.  Then, with no warning at all, he lunges at Hanbin, sending him scurrying up the stairs with a squeal.  The chase is on.

 

Bobby marks Hanbin closely up the stairs, Hanbin sliding and almost falling as he rushes around the tightly-winding staircase, dodging Bobby’s hands grabbing playfully at his butt.  He muffles his shrieks of hysterical excitement into his sleeves, running footsteps echoing loudly in the stairwell; they’re making more noise than is wise, but they’re too focused on each other to be concerned about anything else just now.

 

And there’s something else to it, too, something thrilling and giddy and wild, a kind of savage joy in the chase.  “Better not let me catch you!” Bobby warns.  

 

A little thrill of happy panic lends Hanbin some extra speed as he dodges another swipe from Bobby’s reaching hands, grabbing the handrail to keep himself from falling as he rounds the bend and charges up another flight of stairs, Bobby close behind.

 

But Hanbin bolts up the last flight to find himself cornered outside the apartment, whipping around as Bobby catches him up at once.  He squeaks with terror as Bobby pounces, pinning him against the door, breathing hard and grinning like a tiger.

 

“Caught you.” He says softly, pushing Hanbin against the door, one hand gripping Hanbin’s wrist while the other rummages in his pocket for the keys.

 

“What are you gonna do with me?” Hanbin says breathlessly, trembling with intensity and controlled, euphoric hysteria.  His head is tipped back against the door to bare his throat, but his adam’s apple bobs in his neck with instinctual fear.

 

And the sight of Hanbin beneath him, pinned and helpless, is devastating; Bobby’s lost, sunk deep into the adrenaline and need pumping through him, playfulness boiling over into aggression.  There’s fear in Hanbin’s eyes, but absolute trust in the line of his bared neck.

 

“Gonna get you in this apartment and tie your cute little ass to the bed is what I’m gonna do.” Bobby rasps, all pretense at subtlety and flirtation gone.

 

“Thought you said that wasn’t your thing.” Hanbin says with a little smirk, pushing Bobby’s hand away from his wrist, and Bobby shoves him harder against the door in retaliation.

 

“Good news is, I was wrong about one thing in my life.” He says over the sound of the key scrambling blindly against the lock behind Hanbin.

 

“Gonna tie me up?  And then what?” Hanbin breathes.

 

“I’m sure I’ll think of something.  It’s not as if you’ll be going anywhere.”

 

Hanbin stumbles backward when the door swings open behind him, but Bobby’s got a tight hold on his wrist, and he doesn’t fall far before Bobby hauls him roughly upright.  “What if I don’t want you to tie me up?” He teases, pulling his arm away from Bobby’s grip again.

 

Bobby’s reaction is shocking, instantaneous, powerful; he grabs Hanbin by the front of his shirt, jerking him close until he’s speaking almost against Hanbin’s lips as he kicks the door shut loudly behind him.  “Then you know how to stop me, yeah?” He growls.

 

And Hanbin’s suddenly weak, his knees giving out with how much he likes this new, harsh, aggressive model.  Bobby’s bigger and stronger, true, and he could physically overpower Hanbin on most days.  But this is far more mental than physical, and Hanbin’s as helpless as a kitten, not overpowered but _submissive_.

 

Bobby drags Hanbin to the bed by the front of his shirt before tugging it roughly over his head.  Then he uses Hanbin’s own belt to bind his wrists together behind his back, forcing Hanbin onto his knees, face pressed into the mattress and the leather of the belt biting into the skin on his wrists.  

 

It’s hideously arousing to be pushed around like this, Bobby’s aggression doing terrible things to Hanbin’s self-control as he reaches around to tug Hanbin’s fly open roughly.  “So _fucking_ glad you asked me about this.” Bobby growls, yanking Hanbin’s jeans and underwear down to bunch around his knees.  Hanbin vehemently, but silently, agrees.

 

Then, in a display of pure creative assholery, Bobby pushes a knee between Hanbin’s legs to kneel on the jeans still pooled around Hanbin’s thighs, hobbling him so effectively Hanbin feels his heart skip.

 

This position also has the added benefit of allowing Bobby to press his thigh into Hanbin’s crotch, rubbing firmly against the hard shape of his cock.  Hanbin leans involuntarily into the pressure, his back arching and hips working already against Bobby’s hard thigh.

 

Just another reason to love Bobby, Hanbin thinks dimly to himself.  He’s nothing if not imaginative.

 

Without any warning whatsoever, Bobby spanks him, and Hanbin’s little yelp of surprise makes Bobby laugh with delight.  “Oh yeah?”

 

He doesn’t hesitate, landing another stinging slap on the other side, and Hanbin twitches, muffling his little moan of response into the mattress.  He’s so embarrassed, his face burning with shame and arousal, his ass cheeks blushing too with the impact.  

 

Bobby spanks him again and again.  Each time, the jolt and pain of his hand makes Hanbin’s hips tip forward into the pressure of Bobby’s thigh against his dick.  And each time, it’s a little harder to stop.

 

“You don’t like that at all, do you?” Bobby growls, spanking Hanbin sharply again and knocking a whine from him.  By now, Hanbin’s built up a jerky rhythm with each subsequent slap, urgency overtaking finesse as he ruts himself eagerly against Bobby’s thigh.

 

“No…” Hanbin mumbles, but it’s such a transparent lie that Bobby laughs aloud, spanking Hanbin hard to make him jerk with excitement.  What comes out isn’t a gasp this time but a moan, low and soft, and Bobby does it again just for Hanbin’s squirm and whimper of helpless pleasure.

 

Hanbin's thoughts are beginning to jostle like jars on shelves in an earthquake, the jangling and ringing too loud to separate or understand, a cacophony of noise; and one by one, the jars themselves begin to smash on the floor, each one containing something powerful and overwhelming—this one _pleasure_ , this one _embarrassment_ , that one _trust_.

 

“Hyung…” Hanbin moans thoughtlessly.

 

Bobby reaches forward to grab Hanbin’s hair, pressing his hips against Hanbin’s sore ass, the shape of his cock clear and hard through his jeans.  Hanbin arches in sheer response, pain and pleasure blurring together until he can’t tell the difference, nor is he sure which he’s reacting to.  “Yeah, babe, call me that.  I like that.”

 

“Yes, hyung.” Hanbin says automatically.  His thoughts are blurring around the edges now, brain slipping in and out of focus.  He’s trembling when Bobby spanks him again, and the moan that leaves him is high-pitched and desperate.

 

Bobby’s hand rubs firmly over the reddened flesh of Hanbin’s ass before slipping between his cheeks to stroke his entrance, fingertips wet with spit.

 

“Hyung—”

 

“Should’ve used this to hit you.” Bobby muses, grabbing the end of the belt to hold it taut against Hanbin’s struggles, swatting Hanbin lightly with the end of it.  The sting is an interesting contrast to the clout of Bobby’s hand, exquisitely sharp.  “There’s always next time, I guess.”

 

The intensity is incredible, Bobby intoxicated by Hanbin’s submission, Hanbin drunk on pure sensation.  It isn’t threatening but _freeing_ as the pleasant buzz in Hanbin’s nerves begins to rise in pitch, the earthquake’s epicenter spreading outward in slow ripples.

 

Bobby slides a finger inside Hanbin’s entrance, and then another without much waiting, spitting carefully on them again before sinking deep.  Hanbin pitches forward, back arching with urgency, whining his impatience as Bobby teases him.

 

Bobby’s fingers twist and crook inside Hanbin sharply, making Hanbin’s nerves fire off like bottle rockets, muscles seizing in pursuit of the orgasm Bobby’s dangling tantalizingly out of his reach—fingers withdrawing, circling his entrance, sliding deep and withdrawing again, sweeping across his prostate with merciless precision.

 

“Hyung—” Hanbin whimpers.  He’d meant it to be more of a growl, but as it is he can barely get enough air in his lungs to breathe, much less speak.

 

“Hmm?” Bobby hums, amused.

 

“Oh, _god_ —” Hanbin jerks sharply like a fish on a line, his breath caught in his throat as Bobby swats him again with the end of the belt.  The pinch of leather and skin, the pull of the belt, Bobby’s fingers inside him, the sting of the leather and the impact of Bobby’s hand—it’s all too much, too intense, and Hanbin can’t keep up.

 

Bobby knocks another jar off Hanbin’s mental shelf with the next spank, this one containing _tears_ , and Hanbin’s next sharp inhale trips over itself in a sob; he’s bewildered to find himself crying outright before he can do anything to stop it, overwhelmed and crumbling.

 

Bobby freezes at once, shocked, and then flies into panic mode.  “Oh my god, are you crying?  Jesus, Hanbin, Airplane, _Airplane_.  Okay, come here, it’s alright…” He murmurs, the sound of the safeword shattering the intensity like a hammer on glass.

 

But Hanbin can’t help himself, too strung out, too desperate, and he pleads tearfully with Bobby, “No, please, no, no no _no_ —gonna come gonna _come_ —please let me c—”

 

“Shh, hang on, babe, come here…it’s alright, I’m not gonna leave you hanging.”  Bobby murmurs, unfastening the belt from Hanbin’s wrists and gently turning him over onto his back.  Hanbin covers his face with his hands to hide the ugly scrunch of his expression, sobbing openly with frustration; but Bobby pries his hands away and kisses him, wiping away the tears with his clean hand, rubbing soothing circles into Hanbin’s wrist with the other.

 

“Baby, what happened?  I’m really sorry, are you alright?” Bobby whispers.  

 

Hanbin sniffles and rubs the back of a hand across his nose.  He’s still not quite sure of his bearings; the ebbing intensity of sensation draining out of him is making his head swim, his whole body aching with his thwarted orgasm.  “I’m fine, I—I’m okay, Jiwon, you didn’t hurt me.”

 

“What happened?  It was all going great and then I—I messed it up.” Bobby says unhappily.

 

“I dunno.” Hanbin says weakly, hiccupping.  “I was just—enjoying it—and then—I couldn’t help it, I don’t know _why_ I cried—I just did, I’m not _sad_ , that was so good.  I wish I hadn’t, I didn’t want you to stop…” The words tumble out of him helplessly, and he goes on in this vein for a minute or two until Bobby slips a hand under Hanbin’s neck and kisses him to stop the flow.

 

“You didn’t do anything wrong.  I thought I hurt you.” Bobby murmurs.  

 

Hanbin grimaces, tasting the frustration on the back of his tongue but pushing it aside ruthlessly.  “It was _amazing_.” He says instead.

 

“Sorry for ruining the mood.” Bobby says, his hands sliding beneath Hanbin’s lower back, tongue gliding over a collarbone and then tracking downward to flick at a nipple, shaping it with his tongue until it’s as hard and pink in his mouth as candy.  “Next time, I’ll pay more attention.”

 

“Okay, Jiwon, can we have the debrief later?  I _really_ need you to do something about this—” Hanbin whimpers, preoccupied with the urgent need to come still pulled tight in his belly.

 

“Don’t worry, babe, I got you.” Bobby grins, reaching past Hanbin for the lube sitting on the bedside table.  “I won’t make you wait.  Much.”

 

“I swear to god, Jiwon, if you tease me I’m going to—”

 

“You sure are mouthy with your hands untied.  How about you beg me to come again?  That was nice.” Bobby murmurs, drawing Hanbin’s legs up with his hands, the tip of his lube-slicked cock grazing across Hanbin’s stretched entrance.

 

“ _Jiwon_ —”

 

Bobby’s aggression had been quenched a little by Hanbin’s distress, but it returns in full force almost at once, stoked from ember to inferno with hard thrusts that jar whining moans out of Hanbin’s throat.  

 

When Hanbin wraps a hand around his own cock, Bobby reaches beneath Hanbin’s knees riding high on his elbows to grab Hanbin’s wrists, dragging them beneath his hips to stop him.  Hanbin gasps, teeth bared in eager frustration, and Bobby laughs out loud to see him so defiant, at total odds with his earlier submissiveness.

 

“Fuck—please, let me c-come—” Hanbin whines, head rolling back against the mattress, back arched to show his hard pink nipples.  Bobby laughs again, his voice ragged.

 

“I’m not gonna stop you.  Come for me, baby.”

 

“Jiwon, I c-cant—please—”  

 

“Oh, I know you can.” Bobby says with relish, his thrusts slowing to a deep, deliberate roll of the hips.  “Come on, Hanbin, fuckin’ come for me.”

 

Hanbin jerks, panting with urgency, and then he trembles wildly as the crush of orgasm finally, _finally_ hits him with all its might, body seizing in a series of hot pulses that shake the night apart around him.  “Yeah, fuck yeah, baby…that’s it, give it to me.” Bobby groans.

 

Bobby’s orgasm is only a stroke or two behind, and he pulls out swiftly, shivering and bucking into his own tight grip with a low, choked-off growl, marking time with Hanbin’s sympathetic moans and spilling all over his stomach.

 

“Jesus fuck, Jiwon, where the fuck did all _that_ come from?” Hanbin pants, palming sweat out of his stinging eyes.  Bobby collapses on top of him, completely drained and sighing with relief.  After a moment, he shifts reluctantly to one side to give Hanbin some breathing room.

 

“Dunno.  Full moon, probably.” Bobby mumbles, reaching blindly behind himself to tug a wet wipe out of the container on the nightstand.  Hanbin flinches at the cold wetness of it as Bobby wipes his messy stomach down.

 

“I hope you didn’t throw that on the floor.” Hanbin says.

 

“It’s on my side of the floor, and my mess, so it’s not your problem.” Bobby says lazily, stretching.  Then he pulls Hanbin over to tuck him under his chin, playing with his hair soothingly and kissing him.  Hanbin drapes over Bobby, limp and sated, purring with pleasure at the stroke of Bobby’s fingertips on his scalp.

 

“I hope the full moon comes more often, then.” Hanbin hums into Bobby’s shoulder, half-dozing, thoughts drifting gauzy and insubstantial through his mind like jellyfish.  “Hey, didn’t you get another application earlier?” He says sleepily.

 

“Can’t remember.  Don’t actually give a shit.  Very busy right now.  I’ll call back tomorrow.” Bobby grunts without opening his eyes.  One of Bobby’s hands crawls up Hanbin’s chest to brush tenderly against his cheek.  “Go sleep.  Love you.”

 

“Mmmkay.  Love you.”

 

Bobby snores, and Hanbin grins before reaching across to the bedside table; and no sooner is the light out than Hanbin too is sound asleep, Bobby wrapped comfortably around him.

 


	3. Chapter 3: Stretch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couldn't wait any longer! <3 enjoy~

“Come on, Hanbin, we’re gonna be late.” Bobby calls from the entryway.

 

“I’m coming.” Hanbin says, hopping on one foot as he tugs one shoe on, then the other.  “So who’s this guy we’re gonna go meet?”

 

“His name is Ku Junhwe.” Bobby says, scrolling through the application on his phone.  “I mean, I can’t tell anything more about him than you can through his application, but at least I can probably guarantee you he’s in the  _ has a job _ and  _ won’t hit on my boyfriend _ camps.”

 

“Wow, wonder what that’s like?” Hanbin says blandly.  “Hopefully he’s not a loony.  Though, the number of loonies we’ve had since you put out the ad, at this point I’d be shocked if he wasn’t.”

 

It’s a beautiful sultry evening, now that the sun is beginning to set, taking the edge off the intense midday heat.  They walk together companionably, enjoying the fresh air, Hanbin just ahead of Bobby.  Bobby’s hand rests lightly in the small of Hanbin’s back in a subtly intimate touch--not possessive, simply familiar and affectionate, though unremarkable to most onlookers.

 

The coffee shop isn’t busy tonight, with only two or three regulars milling about at the counter to bullshit with the baristas or tucked away in corners, quietly reading with cups nestled between palms or leaving damp rings on the table next to humming laptops.

 

But the man sitting by the window isn’t a regular, and he glances up with interest when Bobby and Hanbin enter the shop, catching Bobby’s eye and waving.

 

Hanbin sees the little motion and turns, and while Bobby takes a step forward to greet him, Hanbin hesitates.  Ku Junhwe’s application had mentioned that he was a paralegal, but whatever Hanbin had been expecting, it hadn’t been this.

 

He’s striking to look at, standing up as they approach—and he seems to go up for some time, rather taller even than Bobby—and exceptionally handsome in a self-satisfied kind of way, like a cat.  His soft-looking, dyed black hair falls into his blacker eyes, and his generous mouth has a sarcastic slash of a smile in the corners.  

 

Bobby thinks he looks like a rock star, or a model, serious and darkly provocative in his neat suit and black tie.  Hanbin thinks he looks like butter wouldn’t melt in his ass.

 

Strangely enough, Ku Junhwe doesn’t seem nearly as intimidating up close.  There’s a humor in his gaze and the arch of his straight black eyebrows, as if all the world’s a joke and he’s in on it.  His smile is wide and toothy, but clearly shy, too:  There’s a touch of nervous laughter in his low voice as he says,

 

“Hi, I’m Junhwe.  Thanks for meeting with me so quickly, I wasn’t expecting to hear back from you for at least a week.” 

 

“No problem.  I’m Jiwon, and this is Hanbin.” Bobby says casually, eager to put Junhwe at ease, and Hanbin shakes Junhwe’s hand too, smiling.

 

He finds himself hoping Junhwe is a good fit, not just because he’s fed up with trying to find a renter, but because he  _ likes _ Junhwe for some reason, likes his high-pitched, embarrassing laugh and the shockingly forceful expressions that cross his sensuous features.  His scowl could make someone sweat from twenty paces away, but his wide smile is as infectious as a yawn.

 

“Just out of curiosity, what’s got you looking for a new place?” Hanbin interjects into a lull in the conversation, and Junhwe turns to him, looking at him directly for the first time.  His expression is friendly, but his gaze is piercing; Hanbin isn’t aware of the pleasant little shiver that passes through him in response, and wouldn’t know what to make of it if he were.

 

“Well, I actually live in Bucheon right now, but I just got transferred to a new office a few blocks away from here, and it’s just too much of a commute for every day.  That’s why it was so easy to meet you after work rather than hike out here on the weekend.”

 

“Bucheon?  Jeez, no wonder.  I don’t blame you, that  _ is _ a hike.” Bobby says, shaking his head.

 

“Yeah, it wasn’t exactly something I begged for, but what can you do?” Junhwe shrugs.  “But I’m on board with the rent amount you asked for, and you guys seem alright, so…” 

 

“For all you know, we could be weirdos.” Hanbin mutters.

 

“For all  _ you _ know, so could I.” Junhwe grins, making the other two laugh.

 

Something about Hanbin and Bobby rings familiar to Junhwe, though he couldn’t even begin to decide what exactly it is.  They’re both nice-looking, Hanbin more sculpted and delicate, Bobby a little less handsome but with an intense and dynamic charisma that lends charm to his peculiar features.  They fit their own stereotypes almost perfectly—Hanbin the polished, fastidious accountant, Bobby the free-spirited artist—and the chemistry between them clearly indicates a little more than just friendly household-sharing.  

 

That, however, suits Junhwe just fine, though he decides not to bring it up until it’s relevant.

 

And for all Hanbin’s and Bobby’s discussions about keeping their relationship on the downlow, it isn’t particularly hard for Junhwe to tell that Bobby and Hanbin are  _ together _ .  It shows readily in the little ingrained habits, the unconscious way Hanbin orients on Bobby like a compass needle, in the little reflexive touch Bobby lands on Hanbin’s knee before remembering himself.

 

“How do you want to divide up food?  Do you like to buy your own, or contribute to the grocery fund and graze at will?” Bobby says, interrupting Junhwe’s train of thought abruptly.  “I mean, I usually cook enough for everyone, but we do keep full jars of peanut butter, in case you eat like Hanbin used to in college.”

 

Hanbin pokes Bobby in mock offense.  “That’s not true.  I also kept a healthy stash of ketchup packets and those little jelly containers you get at restaurants.  You’d know, since you ate most of them.”

 

“He’s going to run away screaming, Hanbin.” Bobby says severely, while Junhwe smothers his dorky, braying laughter into his sleeve.

 

“It’s fine.  I’ll chip into the grocery fund, I don’t mind, it’d make things easier in the long run; I’m not very organized and I’d hate labeling every box of crackers.  I also can’t cook to save my life, so that’d be kind of nice, honestly.  I can do loads of things, but I’d burn a salad.”

 

“Ah, my favorite.  Drapes flambé.” Bobby says with relish, gnawing on his pen cap thoughtfully.  “What do you do when you’re not accidentally trying to burn the place down?”

 

“I’m actually a bit of a musician.  I do some amateur stuff sometimes, open mics and all—singing,” he adds, seeing Bobby’s expression brighten with interest. “I also collect vinyl, and I have a small side gig as a personal trainer.  I suppose now is the time to warn you that I’m kind of noisy; I have a pretty big voice and I like to sing to myself, so you’ll go into this knowing that I’m mostly walking noise.”

 

Hanbin paws at Bobby’s elbow excitedly.  “Jiwon, I wonder if he could help you with that song you’ve been working on!  I know you were having a tough time with it, I bet he could help!”

 

“You write songs too?”

 

“Yeah, a little.” Bobby shrugs.  “I mean, yes, I do, but it’s kind of just playing around.  I’m a sound tech and a producer for a small label called YG, so most of the stuff I work around doesn’t have much to do with what I’d  _ like _ to put forward.”

 

“Can I hear some?” Junhwe says curiously.  Bobby shrugs again, now a little nonplussed, and reaches for his phone to queue up the music.

 

Junhwe holds it close to his ear, nodding along with the beat, and then he looks across the table at Bobby with a grin.  “This is  _ sick _ , man, I love it.  I do a little bit of composing myself.” 

 

“Man of many talents, apparently.”

 

“Oh, you know, a bit of this, a bit of that.” Junhwe says airily.  “But seriously, that is  _ money _ .  You know what?  I bet you and I could write something great together.” 

 

“Okay,” Bobby says, turning to Hanbin, “I like him.”

 

“No.  Way.” Hanbin says dryly, though he smiles too with triumph and not a little relief.  Then he adds in a stage whisper, “Me too.”

 

“Good thing the boss here is on board.” Bobby says fondly before looking back across at Hanbin.  “When do you want to move in?”

 

“How soon can I?  Would I be able to start Saturday?”   
  


“Yep.” Bobby says.  “You can swing by tomorrow after work to drop off the first rent check and pick up the paperwork, and I think you should do that as well as check out the room just to make sure it’s what you want, but otherwise, I say—let’s do this.”

 

Hanbin feels like cheering, feels like doing cartwheels—the nightmare is over, and as far as he’s concerned, they’ve found the perfect roommate.  Junhwe is beaming, without a trace of nerves in his wide smile as he shakes both their hands again, and once more Hanbin is struck by how tall he is as he gets to his feet. 

 

They depart in separate directions, Junhwe heading for the trains while Bobby and Hanbin turn to walk back to the apartment building, and all three of them are smiling without knowing exactly why.

 

*

 

As promised, Junhwe shows up Saturday morning with a small army of burly moving men in tow, and Bobby thinks Junhwe must be a little wealthier than he’s pretending to be, because he couldn’t possibly pay Bobby enough money to haul a California King mattress, complete with fussy iron filigree bedstead, up four flights of stairs. 

 

Oh well.  Junhwe’s problem.

 

And for half a day or so, there’s nothing but the sound of feet pounding rhythmically up and down the stairwell, up and down again, a flat-screen television and two bookshelves joining the dissembled bed along with an armchair and a dozen large boxes of assorted belongings.

 

There’s visible relief on the sweating faces of the hired men on the completion of Junhwe’s move, and they depart swiftly before Junhwe can call them back.  Then, with Hanbin’s help, Junhwe has the bed assembled before Bobby finishes dinner.  Bobby leans against the door frame, a wooden spoon in one hand, arms folded as he watches Hanbin and Junhwe push the mattress heavily onto the completed frame.

 

“Hey, dinner’s ready, you two.” Bobby says when neither of them notice him.  “You’re welcome to join us, Junhwe.  I made a lot of food.”

 

“What’s for eating?” Hanbin says, getting to his feet with a wince as his knees pop loudly from kneeling on the floor for so long.

 

“Kkonguksu and japchae.”

 

“Sounds terrible.” Junhwe says jokingly, stretching as he gets to his feet as well.  “I’m in.”

 

It feels strange and a little awkward still as they all move into the kitchen together, Bobby watching Junhwe sidelong as he sets the bowls carefully on the table.  Junhwe is a stranger, an intruder really, and Bobby sizes him up expressionlessly, not used to his presence; Junhwe  _ seems _ normal enough, but there’s always a margin for error.  Maybe Hanbin had had a point, but it’s too late to contest it now—this is Junhwe’s house too as much as theirs, but that’s going to take time to get used to.

 

Junhwe stands awkwardly next to the table, waiting for Bobby and Hanbin to take their seats while Hanbin dishes rice out for the three of them.  “This looks just as bad as I thought it might.” He says.

 

“Tough crowd.” Hanbin murmurs, laughing.

 

Bobby leans forward, pointing at Junhwe with his chopsticks before reaching across Hanbin to seize an egg from one of the dishes.  “Prepare to eat your words.  Or at least your dinner.” 

 

For a few minutes, there’s only silence and the sound of chewing, and the clatter of Bobby’s spoon on his bowl.  Bobby keeps throwing sidelong glances at Junhwe, but his face remains impassive even as he clears his bowl with impressive speed.

 

“So, was it as bad as you expected, Stretch?” Bobby mumbles finally around a mouthful of rice.

 

“Terrible.” Junhwe says without skipping a beat, reaching across to help himself to more, “Absolutely terrible, worst I’ve ever had.  I’ll dispose of it for you guys so you don’t have to look at it any more.”

 

Hanbin snorts milk out of his nose, coughing and choking into a napkin, and Bobby thumps him on the back vigorously while Junhwe cackles at them both across the table.

 

“First day on the job?” Junhwe says, laughing.

 

The meal quickly dissolves into more playing than eating; Junhwe uses his chopsticks to move bowls back and forth out of Bobby’s reach, and Hanbin ducks under Bobby’s elbow to steal his rice while he’s preoccupied with Junhwe’s teasing.

 

“Hey, stop picking on me!” Bobby says severely, reaching over to pluck rice out of Hanbin’s bowl in retaliation.  Junhwe accidentally puts an elbow down on his spoon, sending it flying across the room.

 

Everything immediately disintegrates into laughing fits again, Hanbin howling so hard no sound comes out, Junhwe wiping his tear-filled eyes over and over again, Bobby’s head laid down on the table and fist hammering on the table.

 

“I swear to god, Junhwe, you’ve lived here  _ one day _ ,” Bobby says, choking on a laugh as he points across the table, “ _ One day _ , and you’ve already made a mess at the table.  Didn’t you ever learn not to play with your food?”

 

“No.” Junhwe retrieves his spoon from the floor and uses it to fling a pea at Bobby across the table like a tiny catapult.  Hanbin chokes on his milk again, and Junhwe adds, “Jesus, Hanbin, I didn’t know milk had bones in it.”

 

Dinner is officially a disaster as Hanbin struggles to mop up his spilled drink, Bobby thumping him on the back again and wiping his streaming nose on his sleeve.  “Sorry.” Junhwe says, though he sounds anything but.

 

“That was the best dinner  _ ever _ .” Hanbin says stridently, still heavy-eyed and croaky from his multiple coughing fits, beginning to do the dishes while Junhwe helps Bobby pack all the food up into the refrigerator.

 

“Could’ve fooled me, you spent half of the meal choking on it.” Bobby says.  

 

Junhwe shrugs apologetically.  “Yeah, I only meant to make you pee your pants.” 

 

“I’ve heard enough out of you, Stretch.  Go to your room.” Bobby says, hands planted comically on his hips, and Junhwe laughs out loud.

 

“Whatever you say, dad.  I need to finish unpacking anyway.”

 

Junhwe peaceably hands Bobby the last covered bowl and then leaves the kitchen, vanishing into his room, though he’s by no means quiet; he begins humming to himself, stripping tape loudly off boxes and rummaging through them.

 

It doesn’t take him long to unpack, either; what few personal effects he has all seem to consist of Michael Jackson memorabilia—a framed poster, a little figurine, a metric shit ton of vinyl albums.  Only one shelf on the bookcase hosts books of any kind, the rest full of music memorabilia and collectibles.

 

Bobby also notices that half a dozen large plastic bins are stowed carefully under Junhwe’s bed as if waiting to be unpacked, but Junhwe seems to be finished as he pushes the last empty cardboard box out into the hallway for collection the next day.  Bobby’s curious, but he knows better than to ask; it’d be impolite, for one, and two, he might not like the answer.  If those boxes are full of body parts, he’d rather die in his sleep.

 

“Little bit of a Michael Jackson fan, huh?” Bobby says, stopping to look into Junhwe’s room from a distance.

 

“Nah, only a lot.” Junhwe says.

 

Bobby takes a step forward, curious and cautious all at once about this glimpse into Junhwe’s person.  “You weren’t kidding about that vinyl collection.” He says, peering into one of the crates housing at least fifty albums, and Junhwe laughs.

 

“Yeah, that’s only like, half of it, too.  My parents got me into ‘80s pop and ‘90s hip-hop, even though a lot of that was before my time.  They gave me a lot of their vinyls when I moved out, which was really awesome, except that now I had to move them too, and vinyl is heavy.”

 

Hanbin joins them after a moment, standing on tiptoes to look curiously into Junhwe’s room without crossing the threshold now that he’s unpacked.  “Looks good.  Oh, shit, is this Ol’ Dirty Bastard?” He says, pointing into the crate of vinyls, and Junhwe stands up, pulling out the record in question.

 

Junhwe finds the cables to his record player—a fancy new one, though that hadn’t stopped Bobby from jokingly calling him a hipster anyway—and Hanbin retrieves beers from the fridge.  Bobby and Hanbin sit on the sofa, Hanbin sidelong with his legs over the armrest and his head on a pillow next to Bobby’s leg; Junhwe reclines lazily in the deceptively squashy armchair he’d brought with him.

 

It’s the best night any of them can remember having in a while, the three of them drinking beer and listening to Junhwe’s records, talking little.  Finally Hanbin says drowsily, “So what do you think, Junhwe?  Do you like it here?”

 

Junhwe hesitates for just a second, and then he says, “I  _ love _ it here.”


	4. Chapter 4: Touch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It seems like the first post didn't take, or it's taking WAY too long to update, so I apologize if this double posted, and I'll delete any repeats tomorrow! <3

In the future, Bobby will look back on the week when Junhwe moved in and realize that it was truly meant to be.

 

The added money to their budget had been the most obvious and immediate benefit, with the result that Hanbin’s much less stressed over the finances; the issue of Bobby’s work falls off Hanbin’s radar almost completely, much to Bobby’s relief (and eventual forgetfulness).  

 

But in the practical world, Junhwe settles so seamlessly into the rhythm of Bobby and Hanbin’s lives that it’s like he’s always been there.  Within a week, the suspicion and novelty of his presence has worn off, and their good chemistry and household compatibility begin to coalesce.  It takes hardly any further effort than that for Bobby and Hanbin to become as used to and comfortable with Junhwe as they are with one another.

 

He hadn’t been lying about the noise pollution, either.  Bobby’s exceedingly glad that Junhwe’s a bit of a late riser compared to his and Hanbin’s earlier mornings.  Six a.m. would be very early indeed with Junhwe’s impressively resonant voice resounding through the apartment.  At least he’s _good_.

 

Junhwe is funny, and nice, and courteous, if a little untidy.  Hanbin can live with that, though—he’s been dealing with Bobby for so long, Junhwe is almost a blessing in that he’s _not_ as messy as Bobby.

 

And it certainly doesn’t hurt, at least in Hanbin’s mind, that Junhwe’s rather easy on the eyes.  

 

A week ago, Junhwe had been an absolute stranger to them, someone Bobby wouldn’t have known from a hole in the ground.  Junhwe had anticipated nothing more than polite neutrality from his new landlords.  He’s pleased that he’d been wrong, and all three of them are delighted to have discovered a friendly and easygoing compatibility that makes them look forward to seeing one another in the afternoons, the novelty of one another’s presence balanced by playful genuineness.

 

That hadn’t precluded them from a few awkward moments in the process of acclimation, however.  It’s funny now, but it really hadn’t been at the time, when Bobby had gotten out of bed to investigate the odd noise coming from the hall only to find Junhwe standing almost completely asleep in the kitchen in his underwear, making himself a sandwich.

 

That had also nearly led itself directly into a second awkward moment, too:  Hanbin had been half out of bed to investigate as well before remembering that they were pretending not to be in a relationship, at least for Junhwe’s sake.

 

But hiding one another is a chore, and it becomes more and more taxing as time goes on, having to remember to curb little habitual touches and the need for affection until they can safely express it in private.  It doesn’t take long at all for restlessness to win out over sense, and Bobby and Hanbin’s time in the so-called closet lasts right up until the end of the first week of Junhwe’s occupancy.

 

At some point, in the process of learning Junhwe’s presence and schedule, Bobby and Hanbin had missed out on the exact time Junhwe gets home from work.  Maybe they’d just forgotten, or miscalculated; though in this case, it might be simple distraction that pulls their attention away from the matter at hand.  Nevertheless, their timing couldn’t be worse.

 

“Come here, you.” Bobby says, crawling over Hanbin on the couch and pulling the book out of his hands to set it carefully to one side.

 

“Hey!” Hanbin protests.

 

“I feel like I haven’t touched you in a week.  C’mere.” Bobby growls, leaning over Hanbin to kiss him.  Hanbin snorts.

 

“That’s a total lie, Jiwon.  You blew me last night.”

 

“Yeah, but I’m tired of having to make myself not touch you in front of Junhwe.  It’s fucking exhausting.”

 

“Junhwe’s not even here.”

 

“Hell, I know that.” Bobby says, reaching out to tickle Hanbin until he’s squirming.  Hanbin smothers a little shrieking giggle into his sweatshirt sleeves, writhing and clamping his arms tight to his sides to keep Bobby’s hands out of his armpits.

 

But Bobby’s equal to that.  He shoves Hanbin’s sweatshirt up to blow a loud, vulgar-sounding raspberry on his belly, and Hanbin pushes him away with a squeal, folding in helplessly on himself.  “Jiwon, cut it ou—” He begins, but the words vanish in his mouth when Bobby gropes him through his jeans, finding him half-hard already.

 

“Hey, that for me?” Bobby says, grinning as he presses his hand more firmly into Hanbin’s crotch, and Hanbin licks his lips.

 

“Depends on what you plan to do with it.”

 

“A smartass, huh?  I could fix that too.”

 

“Don’t you threaten me.” Hanbin says, his breath hitching slightly as Bobby’s fingers undo the buttons of his fly with one swift tug.  He slides one hand into Hanbin’s jeans with no preamble, stroking Hanbin encouragingly through the fabric of his underwear and watching his reaction greedily, the way Hanbin’s lower lip vanishes between his teeth, eyes half-lidded with growing arousal.

 

Bobby’s fingers pry deftly past the waistband of Hanbin’s underwear to wrap around his cock, now fully hard, warm and heavy in Bobby’s palm.  Hanbin licks his lips, his eyes falling closed as Bobby strokes him slowly.  

 

“You wanna complain that I’m the smartass?  I didn’t realize I was dealing with a fucking _tease_.” Hanbin grits out, as Bobby taunts him with lips and teeth brushing along the sensitive line of his hip.

 

“Uh huh.” Bobby says negligently.

 

Hanbin’s fingers find a handful of Bobby’s hair and tug, drawing a moan out of both of them as Bobby grazes his lips ever so lightly over Hanbin’s cock.  Bobby’s still watching him eagerly, his eyes narrowed into slits above his wide smile as he flicks his tongue teasingly across the head, still gripping Hanbin lightly in one hand, a soft touch just enough to antagonize while providing no relief whatsoever.

 

“Mmh…”

 

_Clack._

 

Hanbin only belatedly realizes that the sound he hears is a key in the knob, and the door bolt sliding back.  Bobby leaps off the couch in alarm, but Junhwe’s already opened the door and is standing there in his black suit, briefcase in one hand, flushed from the heat outside.

 

Hanbin scrambles to tuck himself away—no easy feat when he’s been teased into raging hardness over the last fifteen minutes—and Junhwe looks over them once, a little taken aback and not at all oblivious to what he’s walked in on.  “Er,” He begins awkwardly, “Bad time?”

 

“No!” Hanbin says furiously, hunched over to button his jeans with shaking hands, his face burning with embarrassment.  “I’m—I’m really sorry, Junhwe, we…didn’t realize you’d be home so early…”

 

“I come home this time every day.” Junhwe says with an incredulous little laugh, depositing his suit jacket and briefcase in the hall closet.  “Anyway, isn’t that the line you’d use when the wife comes home to you wearing her clothes?  ‘Cause I’ve heard better excuses from Jiwon’s cooking.”

 

“Are you trying to say you wear women’s clothes when we’re not here?” Bobby says from the other side of the couch.  Hanbin swats at him moodily, annoyed at being interrupted and strangely anxious about Junhwe’s reaction.  He’s become fond of Junhwe, and he isn’t in a hurry to make him want to leave.

 

“For the right price, I might tell you one day.” Junhwe says, tipping Bobby a wink.

 

Hanbin sighs, rubbing his forehead, still terribly flustered.  “I’m really sorry, Junhwe, we weren’t trying to put that out there for you to see.”

 

Junhwe waves the apology away.  “Hanbin, relax.  Let’s be real here:  It was polite of you to keep it quiet, and I’m _sorry_ I interrupted, but seriously, it was pretty obvious even if I hadn’t noticed you two sleep in the same bedroom.  And further to that point, I know I’ve only been here, what, a week?  Anyway, I feel like you’ve known me long enough to tell what kind of person I am.” Junhwe says calmly, helping himself to a beer from the refrigerator and tossing Bobby one too when he gestures for it.

 

“A creep?” Bobby suggests.

 

Junhwe cackles.  “Points for trying, Jiwon, but no.  Shit, if I had a pretty boyfriend like you guys do, I’d probably keep my hands in his pants all the time too.”

 

Hanbin glances at Junhwe for the first time, frowning.  “Wait, what?”

 

“I’m fuckin’ _gay_ , dude.” Junhwe says with a shrug. “I’m actually surprised you couldn’t tell.  Anyway, you really don’t have to hide it from me.  I’m not bothered, not even a little; it’s actually a relief not having to hide all that from you guys.”

 

“Oh.” Bobby says in comprehension, glancing at Hanbin.

 

“Yeah…it wasn't tough to tell you're in a relationship, but I figured I'd wait for the right moment to tell you guys I'm _obviously_ okay with it.  Didn't like to assume.”

 

“Oh.  Well…thanks.” Hanbin says, still flushed with embarrassment, but he smiles at Junhwe, and Junhwe smiles back.  A wave of relief hits him so hard he’s almost lightheaded, relief that Junhwe is alright, and relief that Bobby and Hanbin no longer have to hide.

 

“The plot thickens.” Bobby remarks absently.  “Just gets better and better, I tell you.”

 

“Thanks, Junhwe.” Hanbin says again, at a loss for words, and in spite of the relief of Junhwe’s understanding, there’s still the rather pressing problem of his dick, arousal still plucking urgently at the sleeve of his attention span.

 

“No big.” Junhwe says.  “Though I’m never sitting on that couch again, and if I ever come home to find you two fucking around in my chair, I might have to hurt someone.  Probably Jiwon.”

 

Hanbin has to laugh at that, and all at once the easy friendliness is back, the tension and apprehension broken.  Bobby leans over to kiss Hanbin on the cheek with relief and pleasure, and Junhwe laughs too.  “You two are pretty fucking cute together, though.” He says happily.

 

“Yeah, I know.” Bobby beams.

 

Hanbin throws Bobby a significant look, pleading and urgent, but Bobby stares right back, his supercilious little grin and raised eyebrow telling Hanbin he’s not about to get help for his problem anytime soon.  Hanbin’s cheeks burn again, not wanting Junhwe to see him hard and distracted like this, and he clutches the couch pillow to himself a little tighter, biting back a grumble of discontent.

 

Bobby laughs softly under his breath, and that, too, tells Hanbin that he knows exactly what he’s doing.  And quite frankly, it pisses Hanbin the hell off.  

 

But he has the good sense not to object right then and there, taking a deep breath and willing his erection to flag, if only enough so he can walk to the bedroom to sulk in private.

 

“The only thing I ask,” Junhwe mumbles, surfacing from where he’d been rummaging through the pantry with a cookie in his mouth, “is that you keep it down.  I’m a light sleeper.”

 

“Pretty rich talk coming from you, Junhwe,” Hanbin says with a tense little laugh, “I suppose I should be grateful you only sing during the day.  Otherwise I’m not sure if we could anticipate a visit from the talent agency, or an eviction notice for disturbing the peace.”

 

“That’s right.  I’m as disturbing as they come.”

 

“Nobody likes a braggart, Junhwe.” Bobby hums.

 

*

 

Bobby takes a running leap onto the bed, the headboard knocking loudly into the wall once or twice as he belly-flops onto the mattress.  Hanbin peers out of the bathroom, toothbrush in one hand, lips ringed with white foam.  “What are you doing?”

 

“Playing.” Bobby says, flat on his belly on the bed before rolling himself up in the sheets like a burrito.  Hanbin smiles, shaking his head with wonder at Bobby’s adorable silliness.

 

He spits in the sink and rinses his toothbrush, turns out the bathroom light and crawls into bed next to Bobby.  Bobby turns on his back to stare thoughtfully at the ceiling, still wrapped in his burrito.

 

“Well, Junhwe sure took that better than expected.” Bobby says.

 

“Yeah, thank god.” Hanbin says with relief, leaning his head on Bobby’s shoulder.

 

“Heh.  I bet he takes it real well.” Bobby adds with a lecherous little grin.

 

“Oh no, Junhwe?  Probably not well at all.  Are you blind?  That man is _all_ top.” Hanbin says mildly.

 

“You think?”

 

“Just an observation.  Has this gaydar ever been wrong?”

 

“Hanbin, up until this afternoon you thought he was straight.”

 

“Oh yeah.” Hanbin laughs.

 

“Anyway, glad we aren’t stuck hiding anymore.  It was bound to come out sooner or later, I guess, but at least he wasn’t too bothered by it.” Bobby hums, extricating himself from the bedsheets and fluffing them out over the end of the bed to cover Hanbin’s feet.

 

“Speaking of bothered,” Hanbin says, turning to look at Bobby as he gets back into bed, “I’m mad at you for what you did to me this afternoon.”

 

“What’s that, babe?”

 

“You left me hanging, you jerk.”

 

“Well, what was I supposed to do?” Bobby says, though his expression is anything but apologetic.  “It’s not like I could just drag you off into the bedroom and bang your brains out in a situation like that.”

 

“Still mad at you.” Hanbin sticks his tongue out at Bobby.

 

“Don’t make me tie you up.”

 

“Is that a promise?”

 

Bobby pounces, rolling over on top of Hanbin and pinning him to the bed by his wrists.  “You want me to finish what I started, huh?”

 

Hanbin nods, smirking.  Bobby grabs him by the jaw in a possessively hard grip, and that wipes the smile off Hanbin’s lips completely as Bobby says, “Then you’d better be quiet.  If Junhwe hears, I’ll punish you.  Got it?”

 

Hanbin nods again.

 

The smile that crosses Bobby’s face is so savage that for the first time, Hanbin wonders whether he’s created a monster, or just awoken one.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5: Knots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh you guys are just killing me (in the best way)! I'm so thankful for all of your comments and kudos <3
> 
> A million thanks to my favorite brofriend Katzengefluster for all her help with this chapter, which was a bitch to organize and write, but turned out great for all of it. :D <3

No one answers the first knock at the door.

 

Junhwe presses his face into the pillow, grumbling with irritation at having been woken so abruptly.  He silently wills Bobby or Hanbin to get it, but when no one does and a second knock comes, Junhwe realizes it’s going to fall to him to answer it.

 

He heaves himself onto his feet, smacking his lips and wiping his chin stubbornly on his shirt sleeve.  He’d been so profoundly asleep as to be drooling on his pillow— _real sexy, Junhwe_ —and opens the apartment door.

 

The mail lady is there on the other side, package held out in front of her, beaming.  Junhwe blinks, tries a smile in return, but he’s still so painfully groggy and his head throbbing so viciously that it looks more like a grimace.  She holds the box out to him, and he takes it, still not quite collected.  Then he realizes that this must be the package he’d ordered a while back.

 

Well, it certainly must be—because it certainly _isn’t_ the most discreetly-labeled sex toy he’s ever seen.  So much for discretion; they may as well have shipped it without a box entirely for all the privacy he’s getting from this.  That, at least, explains the mail lady’s gleeful _schadenfreude_ smile.  To his horror, Junhwe feels himself flushing.

 

“And I’ll need a signature for this.” She says, thrusting a slip of paper at him.  Junhwe scrawls a loopy signature on the form with one shaky hand, using the top of the box for support.  He’s much too sleepy still for these kinds of gymnastics.

 

It’s very hard not to slam the door in her face when she bids him goodbye with a delighted wave, reveling in his awkwardness, but he manages.  Besides, he’s been waiting for this package for awhile, given that some of the items he’d wanted were on back-order, and his interest and curiosity in the contents is beginning to overtake his discomfort.

 

He’s still woozy from his interrupted nap, but he’s not too fucked-up to realize that this box is oddly light, oddly empty.  He wonders if maybe they’d shipped everything separately without telling him, because this box clearly only has one or two items inside.  

 

Wouldn’t be the first time, but it pisses him off every time anyway.  He shakes the box again, as if for confirmation, and then grabs his pocket knife off his belt and slits the tape across the top.

 

He takes out the packing slip without looking at it and pushes the fancy black tissue paper wrapping aside roughly.  Sex toy companies love the dramatic gesture, but in his opinion, this is just a little _too_ dramatic, in that it couldn’t have been less polite if it’d had an air horn attached to it.

 

But as he’d guessed, inside the box is one lone item, a skein of red rope—beautiful red rope, glossy, shimmering scarlet as thick as his index finger, wrapped tight in a bundle as long as his forearm.  The problem is that Junhwe doesn’t remember ordering fifty feet of rope, and this clearly isn’t his order.  He scowls, annoyed and disappointed, and replaces the rope in its rustling tissue-paper dressings.

 

Then he spots the packing slip and scans it.  Nothing here but rope according to the item list.  He scans further, and then all at once sees his mistake; his heart skips a beat and then decides it’s going to stop working altogether, and he’s suddenly much, _much_ more awake and feeling much, _much_ worse about the whole thing.

 

The _To_ box on the packing slip isn’t addressed to him at all.

 

It says _Kim Jiwon_.

 

Junhwe stares at it in disbelief, horror rising inside him like steam, his stomach suddenly doing something very vigorous.  He dithers wildly on the spot, not at all sure what to do, but one thing is very, very clear:  He’s just gotten himself into a _shitload_ of trouble.

 

And as if on cue— _of course he fucking would_ —Bobby appears at the top of the stairs, sleepy and sock-footed from where he’d been napping in the loft with the windows thrown wide to tempt the breeze; now that August has hit, the heat of the day is still intense, but the evenings are darker and cooler now, and Bobby’s been taking full advantage.

 

“Who was at the door?” He mumbles, rubbing one eye with a fist and looking rather adorable.  Or rather, Junhwe might’ve thought so if he wasn’t trying to decide how to talk his way out of this.  Bobby pads down the stairs, sock feet making hardly any noise, and he peers good-naturedly at the package on the table.  “You get something in the mail?”

 

Junhwe can’t look at Bobby, distracted, mute with shock and discomposure.  “It wasn’t for me.” He says, raking a hand aggressively through his hair.

 

“Wait—wait, is that mine?” Bobby says suddenly, looking at Junhwe directly, and Junhwe looks back but then drops his eyes; Bobby’s face is pale and tight-lipped, his eyes narrowed in a glare.  “Why’d you open my package?” He demands.

 

Junhwe takes a deep breath, shaking his head; he’s going red again, but this isn’t the time to hold back.  “Because—because I was half-asleep and I thought it was mine.  I’m expecting one too, but I didn’t think to check closely.”

 

“Yours?” Bobby repeats incredulously, “Why would it be—” And then he stops, mouth forming a little _o_ as he cottons on.  “Oh.  I see.”

 

Junhwe glances at Bobby just then, and for the first time—but not the last—both of them see their own expression on the other’s face.  It’s a formal, serious, measuring look, subtle and tense.

 

And after a second or two, Junhwe tears his eyes away from Bobby’s, and the moment crumbles at once; it leaves behind only a vestige of curiosity that’s quickly forgotten, or ignored, or sidelined.  Junhwe folds the tabs of the box closed distractedly to give his hands something to do.

 

“I’m really sorry, Jiwon, I didn’t even think to look, and I really thought it was mine, ‘cause I’m expecting something from the same place.  It was an honest mistake.  Though I can tell you that I won’t be ordering from this place anymore either…not the most discreet packaging I’ve ever seen…”

 

He picks up the package and holds it out to Bobby, and Bobby reaches out hesitantly, his fingers just brushing Junhwe’s as he takes it and tucks it under his arm.  “It’s okay.  I believe you.” He says with an awkward little laugh.

 

“Thanks.  I’m really sorry.” Junhwe mumbles.

 

“Do you usually have this kind of luck intersecting with your roommates’ sex lives?” Bobby says, a little more casually, and Junhwe laughs.

 

“Never.” He says. “You two seem to be the exception.  I’m going to put a _Walked in on Bobby and Hanbin_ jar in the kitchen, and every time you two ambush me, you put five bucks in it.”

 

“Five bucks?!” Bobby says incredulously, hands on his hips.

 

“Hey, I charge a lot more for voyeurism these days.” Junhwe says, grinning.  “If you knew what a bargain five bucks was…”

 

“Need I remind you that _you_ opened the box?” Bobby says.

 

“Yeah, I’ll let that one slide, then.” Junhwe hums.

 

Bobby disappears into the bedroom briefly, and when he returns, the box is gone.  “Oh, and uh, could you not mention this to Hanbin?”

 

“Dude, I promise you, I’m as eager to forget it as you are for me to do the same.  But uh, while we’re on the topic, any particular reason _why_ I should keep it to myself?  You’re not gonna, like, hurt him, right?”

 

“Oh, God no.” Bobby says, pulling a face.  Then he adds, just a touch sheepishly, “It’s a present.  A surprise.  You…didn’t see what it was, did you?”

 

“Well, I did.” Junhwe shrugs.  “But I won’t tell.  And for the record, you don’t need to worry about what I think.  That in particular is very _not_ weird, and secondly…” He hesitates for just a second.  “Secondly, that’s a really good brand, and you made a good choice.”

 

Bobby’s eyebrows contract briefly in confusion.  Then he smiles, brightening a little.  “Thanks.”

 

“Seriously though, I’m starting to feel like at this rate, the natural progression of living with you two is being clubbed awake at three a.m. with a jelly dildo.  If that’s the case, I’d prefer you let me know now, so that I can make arrangements for your final resting place.”

 

Bobby’s expression is solemn when he glances back at Junhwe, and he says very earnestly, “I would never do that to you, Junhwe.”

 

“You sure about that?”

 

Bobby grins suddenly, his eyes thinning to slits.  “It’s a tempting idea, but jelly dildos are impossible to replace these days.”

 

“Ain’t that the fucking truth.” Junhwe says under his breath.

 

*

 

“Pssst.  Look what I’ve got.” Bobby singsongs, taking up a stance behind Hanbin’s chair.  He dangles a box by the red ribbon tied around it in front of Hanbin’s face, and Hanbin makes a little muted sound of pleasure and surprise.

 

He grins, tipping his head back against Bobby’s belly to look up at him.  “A box, huh?” He says, reaching up to take the package in both hands.  It’s large, but not heavy, wrapped in pretty gold-foil paper, the sides mashed and crumpled beneath heavy layers of clear tape—adorable evidence that Bobby wrapped it himself.  “What is it?” Hanbin says, weighing it in his hands but making no move to open it.

 

“Just a box.” Bobby teases.

 

“A pretty one, too.” Hanbin says admiringly.  “Can I open it?”

 

“Go ahead.”

 

To say it drives Bobby mad is an overstatement, but he’s never understood Hanbin’s insistence on opening packages slowly.  Bobby’s a paper-ripper, tearing into boxes and wrappings like a teething puppy, while Hanbin prefers to savor the surprise, carefully unwrapping it.

 

And Hanbin does that now, forcing Bobby to wait for his reaction, the pleasant tension rising slowly.  He slides a finger beneath the edge of the paper, loosening it gently.  “Is it a present?”

 

“Sure is.  All for you, though you’ll need my help using it.” Bobby says.  Hanbin slips the gold paper off, and then he casts Bobby a suspicious, knowing sort of look.

 

“I hope you checked the budget before buying this.” He says.

 

And then he knows at once he’s made a mistake, because Bobby flushes.  Hanbin bites his lip, angry with himself, embarrassed at his churlishness.  “I did.” Bobby says shortly.

 

“Sorry.” Hanbin says gruffly.

 

Bobby ruffles Hanbin’s hair gently.  He’s got plans for this present, and Hanbin’s just set them into motion, though he doesn’t know that yet.  He’ll find out soon enough, anyway.  “It’s alright.  Open it, babe.”

 

Hanbin shoots Bobby another furtive glance, and then loosens the tabs holding the box closed.  Bobby leans forward eagerly as Hanbin lifts the lid, revealing a thick skein of shiny, bright red nylon rope.

 

“Aw, Jiwon.  Did you buy this to tie me up?” Hanbin says eagerly, taking the rope out of the box.  It’s as big around as his forearm, and about as long, the rope thick and glossy.  Hanbin pulls one end of the rope out to drag it slowly through a loose fist, feeling the silkiness of the fibers, admiring the shimmering color of it.  His imagination is already several steps ahead of what his hand is doing, and so, it seems, is Bobby’s.

 

“Well, I was thinking of using it for…all those rope things I don’t do, but I think we can come to an agreement.” Bobby grins, running his hands through Hanbin’s hair slowly.  His fingers tighten just as slowly, gripping two handfuls of hair until Hanbin goes still, his attention suddenly diverted.  Hanbin’s hands drop slowly onto the table, the rope clutched loosely in a grip gone weak.

 

“Thank you.” Hanbin mumbles.

 

Bobby releases Hanbin’s hair just as slowly, moving around the edge of the table until he can look at Hanbin directly, and he takes the rope out of Hanbin’s hands.  Then he pulls some of the length out of the skein so that it lies in tense loops on the table, too stiff and new to relax easily.  

 

“Wrists.”

 

The soft command seems to hang in the air like a bell recently struck, and Hanbin holds out his forearms readily, hands curled into loose fists.

 

Bobby wraps the rope around Hanbin’s wrist curiously, admiring the effect of the deep, lustrous red against the pale inside of Hanbin’s forearm, the way the color brings out the golden, glowy tones in his skin—though he isn’t really thinking about that, not exactly, as he loops the rope around Hanbin’s other wrist.

“Are you trying to tie me up in the kitchen, Jiwon?” Hanbin says dryly, but Bobby ignores him in favor of concentrating on the knot he’s tying, bringing Hanbin’s wrists together firmly.  Hanbin bites his lip at the feel of the rope as it tightens—there’s no stretch, no give whatsoever, and it’s so _pretty_ …

 

Finally Bobby says, “We could do worse than tying you to this table.”

 

“Well, you’re right, except we now have a roommate we’ve already traumatized once.” Hanbin remarks.  Bobby straightens up, the bundle of rope in one hand, the end attached to Hanbin’s wrists in the other; he has only to pull on it lightly for Hanbin to rise to his feet too, like a well-trained pet.

 

Bobby considers for a moment, and he decides on a whim not to tell Hanbin about Junhwe’s accidental invasion of privacy.  After all, Junhwe hadn’t been disturbed.  Maybe it had been overstepping to compliment Bobby on his product choice, but Bobby doesn’t mind.  After all, what the hell would Junhwe know about it?

 

“I think traumatized is the wrong word.” Bobby says, pulling Hanbin along like a dog on a leash.  Hanbin moves forward obediently, already half-hypnotized, clumsy with his bound wrists altering his sense of balance.

 

“What are we gonna do?” Hanbin says eagerly as Bobby closes the door behind him.  Bobby perches himself on the edge of the bed, smiling at Hanbin, and he points at his feet.

 

Hanbin hesitates, confused, but Bobby had expected that.  He tugs on the rope, bringing Hanbin down onto his knees on the floor at the edge of the bed.  Hanbin shuffles forward until he’s right in front of Bobby’s knees, and Bobby reaches down to stroke a hand up Hanbin’s neck, cupping his jaw and pressing against his lower lip with a thumb.

 

He’s still smiling when he says,

 

“Well, Hanbin, you questioned my generosity just now, so…I think a little punishment is in order.”

 


	6. Chapter 6: Awake

Junhwe covers his face with the pillow, reclining on his bed moodily.  Then, restless and annoyed, he rolls over, rubbing his face with both hands, wondering exactly how this could happen.  

 

The problem, he thinks, is Hanbin.

 

Or maybe, on second thought—maybe it’s Bobby.

 

It’s just _got_ to be someone else’s fault.

 

He can trace the obsession back to the instant he’d opened Bobby’s package by accident, when he’d unwittingly discovered the length of red rope nestled in its black tissue paper packing.  Bobby’s admission that it was to be a present for Hanbin had been the point of catastrophic failure, the match to Junhwe’s curiosity; everything had gone up in flames so fast that, while he knows very fucking well where the spark came from, there seems no end to the conflagration.

 

Because the _problem_ is that Hanbin’s a knockout if Junhwe’s ever seen one—and he has—pretty and willowy, with his neat dark hair and cute apple cheeks and soft, soft, _soft_ lips, overlaid with a tender, ardent affection and laced with a savage sharpness that could slice meat.

 

And Bobby, coy and embarrassed, had as good as admitted to Junhwe that Hanbin’s kinky—that both of them are kinky.  Junhwe could’ve gone without knowing that, because then it might’ve made it easier to ignore Hanbin’s wit and smoking-hot good looks.

 

(Junhwe’s fond of Bobby, too, but in a way that feels more like curiosity than raw lust.)

 

So Junhwe drives himself quietly crazy with envy, his imagination spinning up every time Hanbin enters the room, his mind’s eye peering through the windows made by knotted rope leaving its impressions on Hanbin’s pearly skin.  The guilt is there, too, but Junhwe is skilled at negotiating with it, and as long as he makes no move to bring this weirdness into the open, he’s free to imagine whatever he likes.  Or so he reasons.

 

Okay.  So maybe the problem is Junhwe after all.

 

The feelings themselves are neither shocking nor surprising; it’s a shallow crush, nothing more, and to a certain extent, to be expected living with two attractive people who happen to swing his way.  To discover that they share his interests, that their minds are tied up in the same rope as his own?  Well—that’s just the whipped ( _heh_ ) cream on the forbidden cake.

 

It doesn’t even complicate things.  Junhwe knows better than to go fucking around with his roommates, especially those in relationships with large, muscular men.  Bobby might not be as tall as Junhwe, but Junhwe knows without a doubt that Bobby could knock him head over heels before Junhwe could land a single blow.  Doesn’t matter.  Junhwe’s smarter than that, and furthermore, he’s just not the type of guy to mess around in someone else’s relationship.

 

It’s a difficult, agonizing pattern, reinforced by surges of lust and a heavy, bewildered sort of helplessness, a frustration that has him biting his knuckles in the middle of the night like an embarrassed teenager.

 

So when he’d told Bobby that he didn’t care about his and Hanbin’s sex life, it wasn’t a lie.  As Junhwe’s orgasm slams into him, leaving him breathless and panting and his hand slick-wet with cum, he realizes that it absolutely has _become_ one.

 

And that makes it hard to look at Hanbin at all.

 

Hell, it makes it hard, period.

 

Hanbin and Bobby notice nothing.  Junhwe’s naturally laconic expression gives nothing away of his stewing or the loop of denial and circular thinking slowly driving him crazy.  The situation isn’t complicated and there couldn’t be less conflict about it, but that doesn’t make it less difficult to handle, trying to smother greed and lust with sense.

 

He can’t remember the last time he wanted anyone so badly.

 

And as usual, avoiding things eventually does make them much harder to deal with, in that the bad taste in your mouth becomes a toothache, and you can hardly hold back your groan of pain.

 

It catches up with Junhwe one day in the kitchen, leaning over the breakfast bar and chatting with Hanbin as he makes lunch.  Bobby’s not home yet, still at the recording studio to finish up a track, but Hanbin had managed to get enough time to come back to the apartment to eat and, finding Junhwe still there on a day off, had offered to make sandwiches for the two of them.

 

It takes a startling amount of willpower for Junhwe to keep his eyes off Hanbin’s ass or from roving over his body when he thinks Hanbin’s not looking, but he manages, keeping his imagination on the tightest, shortest leash he ever has.

 

Hanbin reaches up, pushing a sandwich across the breakfast bar to Junhwe, and that’s when Junhwe sees it on the inside of Hanbin’s wrist:  Thin abraded lines marking his forearm in a distinct pattern Junhwe knows all too well, a reddened, chafed latticework of clear rope marks.

 

By now, Junhwe’s familiar and casual enough with Hanbin to say what’s on his mind, with few exceptions.  He forgets, however, that there _are_ still some exceptions yet, and for whatever reason, right now is the moment his mind decides to take its leave of his mouth.  He takes the plate from Hanbin, and what he means to say is _thank you_ , but what comes out instead is his very first catastrophic, and eventually fatal, mistake.

 

“Ropes a little tight?” He says with a little grin, pointing at Hanbin’s wrist.

 

Hanbin’s head snaps up, his face blanching in panic, and Junhwe takes the opportunity to give himself several mental punches in the face.  His brain kicks back into gear, but only to remind him that while it can’t be there for him all the fucking time, it’ll sure be there for the shame and awkwardness that kicks in faster than he can say _idiot_.

 

“Excuse me?” Hanbin says sharply, glancing sidelong at Junhwe, wary and affronted.

 

“Ah, _fuck_.” Junhwe says stridently, rubbing his face with regret. “Fuck, sorry, Hanbin, that was fucking thoughtless.”

 

“You think?”

 

Junhwe closes his eyes, collecting himself.  Unfortunately for the both of them, regret apparently isn’t enough to keep him from opening his goddamn mouth, and he takes a deep breath.  “I know it’s not any of my business, but that…shouldn’t happen.”

 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Hanbin says, bristling.  He looks both stubborn and uncomfortable, the set of his jaw throbbing with tension, squared up and on the defensive.  Junhwe’s gotten himself into a bind, pun _absolutely_ intended, the dangerous ground under his feet beginning to shift as he struggles to find the words that might prevent his utter destruction.

 

Junhwe shakes his head.  “I mean, the ropes shouldn’t burn your skin like that.  That means they’re too tight.”

 

Hanbin straightens up, the building anger in his expression suddenly slackening, color flooding his pale cheeks.  Whatever he’d been expecting, that hadn’t been it.  “Really?” He says, and Junhwe allows himself to relax just a little, now that Hanbin doesn’t look like he’s ready to punch him over the breakfast bar.

 

“Yes.”

 

“How do you know?” Hanbin says warily.

 

Junhwe sighs again.  This is going from bad to worse, but he still can’t see any way to back out now.  He grits his teeth, resigned to answering but completely regretting entering into this conversation.  He’s astounded at how difficult this is for him; for all his years of training, all his discipline, this feels as awkward as confessing a gradeschool crush.  And, in a way, it is.

 

“Ah…let’s just say you’d be surprised.  Rope marks just bring out my protective side.” Junhwe says lamely, hanging his head.  That hadn’t been what he’d meant to say either.  Apparently his brain only wants to hang around for the shame party, and can’t be bothered to throw him a bone otherwise.

 

“Why?” Hanbin says, calmer now, and curious.  His fingertips absently find the raised souvenirs of the rope on his forearms, stroking them thoughtfully, and Junhwe finds himself staring at them again before shaking himself resolutely.   _Later!_

 

“Alright.  You remember when we first met, and I told you I was a personal trainer?” Junhwe says resignedly, gnawing on his lower lip.  

 

Hanbin thinks for a moment, nodding.  “Yeah, I remember that.  Let me guess, you’re not _really_ a personal trainer.” He adds, looking at Junhwe with lips pressed together sarcastically.

 

“Holy shit, you bet I’m not.  I’d be in way better shape.”  Junhwe says, swallowing hard around the lump in his throat that wasn’t there a second ago, his weak joke only barely taking the edge off his panic.

 

Because he might not be ashamed of this, but he hadn’t really intended it to be something he shared with his roommates—especially not the pretty one in the committed relationship with aforementioned large, muscular man, sharing a secret that’s firmly outside the appropriate boundaries of sharing.

 

“Alright, so yeah, I lied about the personal trainer thing, because it’s as good an excuse as any.  I’m…” He takes a deep breath, laughing awkwardly under his breath, “uhh, boy…I’m a professional Dominant.”

 

Hanbin’s expression of surprise might’ve been funny, if Junhwe weren’t so terribly aware of the gravity of what he’d just said.  A flush begins to creep slowly into Hanbin’s face, and Junhwe feels his cheeks warming again too; he seems to be doing that a lot these days.  Apparently there’s something about Bobby and Hanbin that embarrasses the absolute shit out of him.

 

Then Hanbin laughs.  “A personal trainer.  That’s pretty fucking funny, actually.”

 

“Thanks.” Junhwe says.  “Anyway, sorry.”

 

“Wait, so…a professional?  I didn’t know that was a thing.  I thought you worked in a legal office.” Hanbin says carefully.  He’s still blushing, but his gaze is sharp and direct, hanging on to Junhwe’s every word.

 

“I do.  Ku Junhwe, Notary Public, beatings extra.  The Dom thing is kind of a freelance gig anymore.  At one point I made enough to live off it, but it was so exhausting that I relegated it to the back burner.  That’s how I recognized the marks on your wrists.” Junhwe says.  “But seriously, I’m really sorry for being so nosy.  I shouldn’t have said anything, but I’m cursed with a big fat fucking mouth, so…”

 

Hanbin laughs again.  “In every sense of the word.”

 

Junhwe pulls a face.  “Thank you for lunch.”

 

“Welcome.” Hanbin says mildly, as cool and calm as if nothing at all had happened.  There’s still some tension in the room, however, vibrating softly like a fly at the edge of their hearing, but this has a different quality, more pleasant than the uncomfortable atmosphere of a few moments earlier.  As Junhwe returns his attention to his sandwich, Hanbin catches his eye.

 

“How did you learn?” He says, in an oddly timid sort of voice.

 

“Learn what?” Junhwe says around a mouthful of chicken and lettuce.

 

“Uh…ropes?  I mean, I’m just guessing you know how to do it, but…”

 

Junhwe swallows.  “My best friend taught me.” He says thickly.  “He owns this fetish club downtown in Gangnam, it’s called the _Cherry Pit_.  He studied shibari in Japan, and then he’d come back and do classes at the club, which is where I picked it up.  I really enjoyed watching it, so I learned some stuff out of books, and he let me practice on him until I got really good.”

 

“A fetish club?” Hanbin repeats blankly.  “What the hell is that?”

 

“Er, just a…well, pretty much like a dinner theater, I suppose.” Junhwe shrugs.  “There’s no food, just a bar, but it’s set up so that people can talk and watch the stage while the performers do their thing.”

 

“A sex club?”

 

“Not quite.  I mean, let’s not kid ourselves, it kind of _is_ , but it’s also…not.  There’s no nudity or public sex there, if that’s what you mean.”

 

“Sounds intense.”

 

“Maybe a little, for the first time.” Junhwe says around another bite.

 

Hanbin gnaws at his lip thoughtfully, staring at the sandwich in his hands like it’s going to tell his fortune, but Junhwe doesn’t press him.  Finally he says, with a shy little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “Okay, I gotta admit, Junhwe, you’ve got me curious about this place.”

 

Junhwe feels his heart leap, but quickly stifles the feeling, careful not to let it creep into his tone.  “You want to go?”

 

“Yeah.” Hanbin says.

 

“Okay.  You’d probably better talk it over with Jiwon first, though, because that’d be a really weird day otherwise and I don’t think he’d appreciate it.  But if you still want to, I’ll get the schedule from Yunhyeong and get you guys into a shibari demonstration.”

 

“Wait, you're not coming?” Hanbin says.

 

“I mean, I _could_ …” Junhwe says carefully.  “If you wanted.”

 

“I think it’d be weird going by ourselves, because we won’t know anyone there.  Maybe you’d better come along, at least for the first time.” Hanbin says, biting his lip again, and Junhwe feels the spiral of elation and dread winding up in his stomach.  He swallows.

 

“No problem.” He says against every better instinct he has.  Hanbin smiles back at him, shy and eager and pretty.  Junhwe feels his heart skip.

 

Not good.

 

Not good at all.

 


	7. Chapter 7: Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter today! <3

What with everything else going on in Hanbin’s life, Hanbin doesn’t tell Bobby about his conversation with Junhwe.  At least, not at first.

 

He’d meant to, excited as he’d been to discuss it with Junhwe, but somehow the words had gotten tangled up in inexplicable shyness, and then the moment to mention it had passed; distracted, Hanbin had taken to Bobby’s new line of conversation rather than pursue the one making his stomach do backflips, and the topic had slipped quietly to the back of his mind until it had been overlooked entirely—but not in any way forgotten.

 

Because there’s no way Hanbin can really forget about it.  It crops up in dreams, prying into that unguarded mental state between sleep and waking, little lurches of excitement as he’s reminded of it during the day only for it to be trodden on and smothered by some other urgent problem.

 

But one night a week or so later in bed, with Bobby playing sleepily with Hanbin’s fingers and wrists, it creeps its way slowly, insidiously, back into Hanbin’s mind.

 

The brush of Bobby’s fingers is gentle, soothing, drawing soft, ticklish little patterns on the inside of Hanbin’s forearm.  Hanbin falls in love over this above all else; of the spectrum of Bobby’s touch, this is Hanbin’s favorite, the one that makes his mind go blank and his body relax so effortlessly.  

 

Maybe this contact, comforting and disarming, is what lets the idea in, settling into place finally now that he’s off guard; or maybe it’s Bobby’s thumb tracing over some of the more stubborn rope marks still lingering on the knob of his wrist, reminding him.  Maybe it’s neither of those things, and Hanbin had simply been avoiding something that refuses to be ignored or denied any longer.

 

“Had an interesting talk with Junhwe couple days ago.” He mumbles through lips pursed by the pressure of his cheek resting against Bobby’s chest.

 

Bobby makes a sleepy, curious noise, too drowsy to speak but still listening, so Hanbin continues.  “He said there’s a fetish club downtown.  I was curious about going.”

 

Bobby shifts slightly underneath Hanbin’s weight, the motion of his hand over Hanbin’s forearm stopping its slow caresses.  “Hmm?  What did you say?”

 

Embarrassment floods Hanbin’s body like hot water, and all at once he feels much more awake and very warm, apprehension dragging him roughly out of his semi-stupor.

 

“Did you just say Junhwe asked you to go to a fetish club?” Bobby says incredulously, his hand wrapping gently around Hanbin’s wrist instead.

 

“No,” Hanbin says, his face hot now, “he just told me about it, that it was downtown, and…I asked him if he’d take us there.”

 

“Weird conversation to be having with Junhwe.” Bobby mumbles, thinking back to Junhwe’s package mix-up, in which he’d accidentally opened Bobby’s mail thinking it was his own.  Bobby hadn’t bothered to tell Hanbin about it, since Junhwe hadn’t meant it, but to Bobby, it seems rather impertinent for Junhwe to tell Hanbin about it himself.  “How’d that come up?”

 

“He saw the marks on my wrists from the rope.” Hanbin says, flushing deeper still to remember it.

 

“So?”

 

“So he pointed them out, and told me that the rope burns meant that they were too tight.”

 

“How the hell would he know?” Bobby says, resuming his gentle stroking of Hanbin’s palm and fingertips, though now there’s a thoughtful quality behind the touch, slow and deliberate.  Hanbin shivers with delight, relaxing slightly at the touch, but still wary.

 

“He said he’s a professional Dominant.  Gets paid to be kinky, apparently.”

 

Bobby’s quiet for a moment, digesting this new piece of information.  “Yeah, he does look like a Dom, doesn’t he?  Didn’t you say something like that a while back, like, he’s _all top_ or something?”

 

“Yeah, something like that.” Hanbin mumbles.

 

“So what the hell’s a fetish club?” Bobby says.  “Why would we be going there?”

 

“I wouldn’t know exactly, but Junhwe says they have rope tying classes and performances and that kind of thing.”

 

“Bondage classes?  That’s a thing?”

 

“That’s what he said.”

 

“Fuck, that’s actually fucking _cool_.” Bobby hums.  “Hell, I’m down for that, Hanbin.  Hell yeah.”

 

“I was hoping you’d say that.” Hanbin murmurs, snuggling down into Bobby’s side, relief hitting him in a wave that almost leaves him light-headed.

 

“When is this happening?”

 

“Dunno.” Hanbin shrugs.  “He just said he’d find out and let us know when the lesson was, and I told him he should come with us ‘cause we won’t know anyone.”

 

“Sounds good to me.”

 

Hanbin hums, burying his face in Bobby’s collarbone, and then on a deeply contented sigh, he whispers, “Thank you.”

 

“For what?” Bobby mumbles back.

 

“Being awesome?  I dunno.”

 

“You want me to come up with something to thank me for?  I could do that, if you like.”

 

“Go to sleep, Jiwon.”

 

“You sure?”

 

“ _Good night._ ” Hanbin says firmly.  Bobby laughs under his breath.

 

Hanbin does his best to keep quiet, but it doesn’t matter.  Junhwe isn’t asleep.

 

*

 

The following week seems to last forever, scraping by incredibly slowly, painful in its endurance until Junhwe finally changes the battery in his wristwatch out of pique.

 

Yunhyeong doesn’t have another shibari performance scheduled until the next Saturday, and the anxiety and anticipation are excruciating.  Hanbin’s focused attention seems to scratch on Junhwe’s nerves like cat claws, brimming with enthusiasm, muzzled only by a sense of shyness as if some accident had robbed him of his senses and he’d only just begun to get his balance back.

 

Once or twice he catches Bobby staring at him avidly, too, his curiosity alighting on Junhwe whenever he becomes aware of him in the same room.  The whole apartment is full of a brittle, restrained eagerness that make the wait unbearable, so that even their mealtimes together are cheerful but subtly tense.

 

The attentions and curiosity of Bobby and Hanbin have Junhwe reminded occasionally of the old nightmare that had plagued him as a teenager, in which he woke to find himself stark naked on a stage, a very bright spotlight lending its heat to the humiliation already making his cheeks burn.  Not for the first time, he wonders if maybe he’s walked straight into that nightmare, or if he’s perhaps simply living in the threshold between sleep and waking.  He’s got a thousand misgivings clamoring in his head, each of them keeping him awake at night, and lending so much doubt that he’s half-convinced he’d actually dreamed that he’s about to take Bobby and Hanbin to the Cherry Pit.

 

_God, I hope Yunhyeong goes easy on them._

 

Hanbin’s been quietly ready for an hour or so now, dressed simply in jeans and a pearl-white sweater that sets off all the golden, glowy tones in his skin.  Bobby thinks it's amazing how, after all this time, Hanbin is so achingly lovely he can still make Bobby’s heart skip.

 

He has an effect on Junhwe, too, but Junhwe keeps any response he might have firmly under wraps.

 

Bobby rubs at the back of his neck, awkwardly watching Junhwe shrug on a suit jacket.  “Are you _sure_ this is how I’m supposed to look?” He says, gnawing on his lower lip, feeling spectacularly underdressed in his plain, long-sleeved black t-shirt.

 

Junhwe, by contrast, is dressed to the nines in one of his perfectly-cut work suits, the soft wool grazing the devastating angles of his body, with a glossy silk tie resting in a thick knot at the base of his throat.   Below, he’s wearing heavy black combat boots he’d polished himself to a mirror shine an hour before.  Their thick, unsubtle heaviness might’ve contrasted oddly with the neat, flattering lines of his suit, but instead they seem to emphasize the fact that Junhwe’s a professional at what he does, worn for the express purpose of being licked.  A subtle layer of meticulously-applied eyeliner seems to draw attention to his fierce gaze.

 

Hanbin can barely stand to look at him as he adjusts his tie, intimidated and awed.  Junhwe looks every inch the Dom he claims to be, razor-sharp and unforgiving, an intense and commanding air surrounding him like a halo of light.  

 

Bobby, meanwhile, takes Junhwe’s sudden change in with unconcealed awe, mouth hanging open unflatteringly.  “Okay, you weren’t making that up…”

 

“Making what up?” Junhwe says in surprise, looking sidelong at Bobby, pausing with his arms upraised in the middle of shrugging his jacket into a more comfortable place.  

 

“The Dom thing.”

 

“Oh, that.” Junhwe laughs.  “Well, don’t take me as a suggestion right now, seriously.  I’m only dressed this way because it’s expected of me.  There’s a bit of a dress code, but it’s not _Gimp or GTFO_ ; it’s more like _if the naughty bits are mostly covered, you’re good_.  You look fine, both of you do.”

 

Bobby glances at Hanbin, who smiles back with nervous excitement, and breathes a tiny sigh of relief at seeing Hanbin as enthusiastic as he himself is.  Bobby’s been on tenterhooks for a week now, and this feels like finally scratching a maddening itch, like muting an intolerably repetitive noise.

 

“You guys ready?” Junhwe says calmly, adjusting his cuffs one more time before tucking his wallet into an inner pocket of his jacket.  Bobby and Hanbin rise as one off the sofa and follow Junhwe mutely out the door.  “Why do you both look like that?  Are you nervous?”

 

Hanbin laughs timidly.  “Yeah, I guess so.  A bit.”

 

Junhwe grins.  “Nothing to worry about, I promise.  All you have to do tonight is enjoy the show.  It’s gonna be amazing.”

 

It’s a half-hour walk to the club, and Junhwe insists on walking instead of Bobby’s suggestion of taking the train.  It turns out to be a good decision; the air is fresh and crisp with the fall weather, little eddies of cool wind pushing into the alleys and across sidewalks, stirring the dry, brittle autumn leaves around their feet as they walk.  Bobby and Hanbin hold hands, following Junhwe’s lead, refreshed and excited; the open air seems to dispel the nervousness and uncertainty that had built up over the past week like toxic gas inside the apartment.

 

Junhwe leads them into a narrow alleyway, boots crunching softly on dry leaf skeletons.  Bobby scowls at Junhwe’s back.  “Is there really a club here or are you just taking us on a foot tour of residential Gangnam?”

 

Junhwe glances at Bobby over his shoulder, smiling, but he doesn’t say anything; he rounds the corner and steps into a pool of red light at odds with the washed-out dimness of the orange streetlights illuminating the sidewalks.

 

Bobby and Hanbin follow, and sure enough, there above a deepset entryway in the side of an otherwise anonymous high-rise office building glows a neon sign, twisted cursive tubing casting its red light over the cobbled walkway and scattered leaves.  A little secretive wave spelled out in red light, a silent beacon calling like-minded people.   _The Cherry Pit_.

 

“It’s not supposed to be super obvious, because people don’t usually take kindly to wandering accidentally into fetish clubs.  That said, I feel like I should prepare you…” Junhwe says, suddenly sounding a little awkward.

 

“Prepare us for what?” Hanbin says.

 

“It might be a little shocking, that’s all.  People like to flaunt their kinks openly here, and I just feel like I should’ve probably warned you beforehand.  You’ll probably see some weird stuff, but it’s totally harmless, I promise.”

 

“Alright.” Bobby says blankly.  “Lead the way, Junhwe.  We’re ready.”

 

Just inside the door is a sort of odd antechamber, dimly lit by a ceiling panel studded with tiny blue LEDs that glint like stars; through the gloom they can see a flight of stairs, and in between stands a gorgeous, wavy-haired blonde man with a pale pointed face.  He doesn’t seem very big, but he holds himself like a bouncer would, and his sparkling smile is all for Junhwe.

 

“Hey, Junhwe!  Glad to see you back.  Who’s this?” He says in a sweet, clear voice, turning his sharp gaze on Bobby and Hanbin.  His smile is friendly, but now there’s a shuttered, guarded look to him, as if sizing the two of them up.  Hanbin draws very slightly closer to Bobby, but Junhwe simply laughs.

 

“Hi, Donghyuk.  Jiwon, Hanbin, this is Donghyuk, co-owner of the Cherry Pit.” Junhwe says, pushing them gently forward; Donghyuk kisses them both on the back of the hand, winking at Hanbin, who flushes with embarrassed pleasure.

 

“Don’t know where you found these two babes, Junhwe, but sign me up.” He says, waving them past.  “Go on ahead, okay?”

 

“Thanks, Dong.” Junhwe says with a grin.

 

Hanbin’s still warm around the collar as they climb the carpeted stairs, Junhwe in front with Hanbin tailing him closely, and Bobby bringing up the rear more calmly.  Partly because he’s nervous and wants to talk, partly because he’s curious, Hanbin leans forward into Junhwe, saying softly, “Junhwe, that guy does _not_ look big enough to be a bouncer.”

 

Junhwe takes a deep breath, because Hanbin’s too close for comfort, but that’s an even bigger mistake; he catches the scent of Hanbin’s cologne on the inhale, and he has to take hold of the railing in order to stop himself from having a heart attack.  

 

“Look behind you.” He manages to say in the same undertone, and Hanbin turns to look over his shoulder at Donghyuk’s back; he’s got a short whip tucked into the back of his tight jeans, one with a long, heavy handle and several longer, lethal-looking strands of leather dangling down across the curve of his ass.  Hanbin nods in understanding.

 

“You don’t really need to be big when you carry a weapon like that.” Junhwe clarifies.  “Donghyuk is way stronger than he looks, and he can draw blood at five paces with that fucker.  You’d never even see it coming, so to speak.”

 

Hanbin has a response ready, but it vanishes in his throat as they crest the top of the stairs to step out onto the main floor.

 

It’s somewhere between nightclub and performance stage, a dimly-lit, wide-open room littered with small round tables, each surrounded by groups of peculiarly-dressed people leaning across to talk, or sipping their sweet drinks.  Some of the people here aren’t sitting at all but crouching or kneeling, collared and masked, with leashes tied ostentatiously to the legs of chairs or held in gloved hands like expensive pets.

 

The glittering black tile floor seems to catch and scatter the colored lights overhead, so that everything is outlined in the same deep, rich pink, now green, now a vivid electric blue.  The music is loud enough to be heard, a low, electronic bass beat, but not so loud as to impede conversation.

 

Bobby and Hanbin stand frozen in place, curious and stunned all at once, absorbing the strangeness of the atmosphere in silence.  Junhwe hadn’t lied when he’d said it might shock them; Bobby can only stare as a woman in not much more than a filigree mask and sequined pasties leads a half-naked man across their path with a finger hooked into the ring on his collar.

 

“You guys okay?” Junhwe says, looking at the two of them with concern, and the sound of his voice seems to snap them both out of their preoccupied gaping.  “Come with me.  We’ll get a drink, and then I want to find Yunhyeong.”

 

Bobby and Hanbin follow Junhwe blindly, hardly aware of how much they’re staring at the strangeness of their surroundings.  Junhwe seems to know everyone they pass, shaking hands or hugging someone every few steps; and it isn’t hard to see why—not only is Junhwe spectacularly handsome, but he seems to exude a strength of presence that makes the crowd divide ahead of him like a prince walking among common men.  Bobby and Hanbin follow behind timidly, sticking close to Junhwe so as not to lose him.

 

Junhwe buys them all drinks from the bar, and Hanbin sips his whiskey with a hand that only just trembles.  Normally he’d reach for beer, like Bobby is having right now, but Hanbin feels like he needs something stronger just now, something that’ll steady his nerves more quickly.  Bobby takes his hand reassuringly, and Hanbin smiles down into his glass.

 

A crow of delight makes the three of them turn around in surprise, and then without warning Junhwe’s being caught up in a ferocious hug by another man, who grabs Junhwe by both ears to plant a forcible kiss on his mouth.  Junhwe pushes him away with one hand covering his face, laughing aloud.  “Don’t scare my guests, Yoyo.”

 

“You brought guests?” Yunhyeong exclaims, his narrow eyes creasing in a smile until his gaze seems lost in the breadth of his wide grin.  “God, Junhwe, you go through them fucking fast, don’t you?  Hi, I’m Yunhyeong, owner of the Cherry Pit.” He says even as he’s shaking Bobby’s and Hanbin’s hands vigorously.

 

Bobby and Hanbin are too stunned to speak, looking at each other at a total loss for a response, but Junhwe steps in, to their intense relief.  “No no, these are just my friends, Jiwon and Hanbin.” Junhwe says, his hands settling on Bobby’s and Hanbin’s respective shoulders; Hanbin relaxes just slightly at the touch, reassured by Junhwe’s presence.  “I don’t _go through them fast_ , man, you know I’m strictly for hire these days.  Anyway, go easy on them, they’re virgins.” He waves a hand casually, and Yunhyeong grins down at them again.

 

“Don’t worry, I’m very gentle, at least at first.” Yunhyeong says, winking.  “Since you’re new, all your drinks are on the house.” He says.

 

“Wish you’d told me that before I paid for them.” Junhwe groans.

 

“Okay, okay.  All your drinks are on Junhwe’s tab.” Yunhyeong amends.  Junhwe groans again.  “And if you don’t like that, well, too bad.  I’ll just take it out of your hide later.”

 

“Threat, promise or warning?” Junhwe calls.  Yunhyeong laughs, and then he’s turning away, excusing himself with a wave to deal with some crisis apparently erupting over by the bar.  Bobby and Hanbin breathe a little easier, glancing at each other and laughing softly; Yunhyeong’s so aggressively cheerful that they’d been too overwhelmed to do much more than stare blankly, shocked once more into silence.

 

“Yunhyeong’s been my best friend since my senior year of high school.” Junhwe says, jerking a thumb over his shoulder.  “Sorry, I know he can be a little much to handle at first, but I’ve known him for so long I guess I’m just used to him.”

 

“It’s okay.” Bobby says, taking Hanbin’s hand and slurping at his beer noisily.  “So when does this thing start?”

 

“Should get going around ten, I think.” Junhwe says, checking his watch.  “So in half an hour or so.”

 

Yunhyeong appears suddenly at Junhwe’s elbow, and he takes Junhwe gently by the upper arm, his expression serious; Junhwe catches his mood at once, and he turns to listen closely to what Yunhyeong has to tell him.

 

“Hey, I’m sorry,” He says in an undertone, “but I just had both of my shibari instructors call off with the flu.  Do you think you could fill in for me last minute?”

 

“Yunhyeong, I’m kind of entertaining here.” Junhwe says, a touch impatiently, but Yunhyeong looks so desperate he bites his lip, conceding that it can’t hurt to hear him out.  Yunhyeong wouldn’t ask if there wasn’t a good reason to.  “There’s no one else?”

 

“No, I looked and nobody here can do it, not like you can.  Will you?  Please?”

 

Junhwe sighs, and then he raises one eyebrow, a grin sneaking onto his lips despite his best efforts to keep it off his face.  “Depends.  Are you asking me as a friend, or are you offering me a paycheck?”

 

Yunhyeong smirks, running one finger teasingly along Junhwe’s jaw.  “Which is more likely to get you to say yes?”

 

Hanbin finds himself gawking absently again, fascinated by Junhwe and Yunhyeong staring each other down like tigers; Yunhyeong’s friendly face has a predatory quality to its expression now, and Junhwe is gazing right back, both fearless and amused.  There’s a power exchange at play here, but one Hanbin can’t understand, two dominant personalities probing one another playfully for a weak spot.

 

“For you?  I’ll do it for half my usual, just ‘cause you look so handsome tonight.  But I don’t really feel like teaching, so it’ll just be showing off.  Who’ve you got for me to demo on?”

 

Yunhyeong nods appreciatively, eyes falling closed in brief thanks. “No problem.  Give me a few minutes to scrounge someone up; I’m sure Jiyong wouldn’t mind, he’s doing a whipping demo with Seunghyun after you.”

 

“Ah, fine.  Jiyong’s such a whiner, but alright.” Junhwe groans, turning back to Bobby and Hanbin with a sigh.  “Sorry, guys.  I’m going to have to go for a bit.”

 

“Go where?” Bobby says, looking up at Junhwe with something not unlike panic on his face that makes guilt settle heavily in Junhwe’s stomach.  This really isn’t fair to Bobby and Hanbin, leaving them alone in a new environment like this, but Junhwe’s already overcommitted himself.

 

“Yunhyeong wants me to fill in for the shibari demonstration today, because Chanwoo and Jinhwan called off with the flu.” He says heavily.  “I’m just going to be performing a routine, not teaching, but I’ll make it up to you later, I promise.”

 

“Make it up to us how?” Hanbin says curiously.

 

“However you want.” Junhwe says distractedly.  “Man, this is such a disappointment, too.  Chanwoo’s taller than I am, and Jinhwan’s about the size of a peanut, and they do some amazing suspension work with rope.  I mean, it _is_ way easier to hoist someone this tall—” he holds his thumb and index finger apart by an inch or so, “—than it is for someone my size.”

 

“What should we do?” Hanbin says nervously.

 

“Just find a seat—get one up close.  I’ll have Yunhyeong set up a special one for you if there isn’t one so you can watch.” Junhwe says, glancing around.  “Fuck, I hate working with Jiyong, he’s a brat.”

 

“Why don’t you just use Hanbin instead?”

 

Junhwe whips around to look at Bobby, and Bobby smirks at him, ignoring Hanbin’s indignant little splutter; his attention remains firmly fixed on Junhwe, while Junhwe merely stares back at him with open-mouthed incredulity.  

 

Junhwe’s also very, very glad that the main floor chose this exact moment to light the scene with red, because he can feel the embarrassed heat rising in his face like steam.

 

“Jiwon!” Hanbin admonishes.  Junhwe looks briefly at Hanbin, but then his gaze flits back to Bobby at once.  

 

Without taking his eyes off Junhwe, Bobby leans conspiratorially toward Hanbin’s ear, saying, “Why not, Hanbin?  Don’t you think it’d be a good experience to be tied up by a pro?”

 

“But—” Hanbin begins, and then he stops as suddenly as if Bobby had covered his mouth.

 

Because there’s simply too much truth in this to ignore.  Bobby’s _good_ with the ropes, and Hanbin _loves_ them—but they’re still very much amateurs, playing at a hobby, and Junhwe is a professional.  This is the difference between home cooking and five-star cuisine, and while Hanbin is, in fact, in the habit of deceiving himself, he’s pretty damn sure about this.

 

He’s caught the delicious smell, and he’s suddenly dying for a taste.

 

Junhwe clears his throat awkwardly, still burning with embarrassment and breathless as his heart struggles to keep up.  Bobby’s suggestion is too easy, too perfect of an opportunity.  Junhwe makes himself a promise not to waste it.  He’ll have no choice but to be satisfied with this, because it’ll never happen again.  

 

“You don’t have to.” Junhwe says thickly.

 

“Is that okay?” Bobby says.

 

“Hey, why are you asking him?  Neither of you have actually asked me, you know, and since this is rather my decision…” Hanbin interjects.

 

“I thought you were into this stuff.” Bobby coos, pinching his cheek affectionately.

 

“I am,” Hanbin grins, pushing Bobby’s hand away, “I just like to be asked, that’s all.”

 

Junhwe laughs, unable to help himself, enjoying their playful affection.  “Yeah, you’re right, Hanbin, we should’ve asked you first.  Do you want to try it?”

 

Hanbin looks back at Junhwe appraisingly.  “Yeah, all right, but I don’t really know what to expect.”

 

“I’ll have to—to touch you a bit, but it’ll just be ropes, that’s all,” Junhwe says, heart bounding in his chest so eagerly it makes him choke on the words, but he swallows it back just as quickly, “but I promise there won’t be any molesting, and your clothes will stay on.  And no safeword, just _stop_.  All you have to do is follow my instructions once we get up there.”

 

“I think I might be nervous in front of this many people.” Hanbin mumbles, glancing up at the stage before fixing on Junhwe again as if intimidated by the very sight.

 

“No problem.  I can blindfold you in the dark before we get started, if you want.  If you can’t see the crowd, you should stay calmer.” Junhwe shrugs.  “But seriously, no pressure.  If you change your mind, I can just ask Jiyong.  I just saw him go backstage.” He’s already half hoping Hanbin doesn’t want to; this is starting to seem like a worse idea by the minute, the temptation increasing until Junhwe’s nerves jangle with urgency like a ringing telephone.

 

Hanbin, however, ignores this last part, squaring his shoulders, his expression one of only barely-restrained, hysterical excitement.  Beside him, Bobby is watching Hanbin through half-closed eyes, a smirk on his parted lips, like he knows everything that’s going through Hanbin’s mind; Hanbin glances at him swiftly as if for approval, receiving a tiny nod in return.

 

Then he looks up into Junhwe’s eyes, black and piercing and intense; and something happens, some deep lurch of pliant receptivity inside him rising to the surface like oil over water, expressing itself in a pleasurable shiver that stirs the hairs on the back of his neck.  He’s struck as if by a snake, transfixed before he even realizes it.

 

“Alright.” He says breathlessly to Junhwe, who smiles. “Show me what to do.”

 

 


	8. Chapter 8: Focus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  

A shiver of anticipation crawls over Bobby’s skin.

 

He’s been keyed up since Hanbin had disappeared backstage with Junhwe fifteen minutes ago; not nervous, not apprehensive, simply _excited_.  He’d found himself an empty seat right up front and slightly off center, a perfect view, but the wait has become torturous again.  He plays with his phone just for something to do, but he can’t help looking up every few seconds each time a hint of movement suggests itself from behind the stage’s velvet curtain—accidental brushes of the heavy fabric making it sway lazily, shadows passing through the gap between, hinting at an imminent performance.

 

And for all its rich dressings, the stage is a generous title for little more than a raised dais against the wall of the club floor, dark and empty as the performers posture themselves for their demonstrations.  Bobby’s imagination wanders backstage yet again, wondering idly what Junhwe and Hanbin are doing right now; whether Junhwe is coaching him ahead of time, or if they’re simply sitting together and talking to put Hanbin at ease, or if Junhwe is perhaps changing Hanbin’s clothes into something more theatrical.

 

Bobby doesn’t realize he’s thinking more about Junhwe than Hanbin, but that’s no surprise, either.  Bobby is used to Hanbin, but not to Junhwe, and he’s _eager_ to see what Junhwe is going to do, how Hanbin will look, to witness a display from the other side—and to see what he himself might look like, pulling the ropes tight around Hanbin’s body until they bite into his skin.

 

Hanbin, as it transpires, is sitting immediately backstage on the other side of the curtain.  He’s shed his sweater in favor of the white undershirt he’d worn beneath it—Junhwe had said he’d be cooler on stage—but he’s still feeling warm with Junhwe standing next to him. He’s steadier and calmer for having finished his drink, although his heart leaps with fear every time Junhwe moves:  When Junhwe suddenly takes a few steps away, Hanbin rises out of his seat automatically to follow, his heart pounding.

 

“Hey, relax.  Stay there, okay?” Junhwe says, fingertips pushing Hanbin back down into the hard metal folding chair, and Hanbin does as he’s told, hands twisting together fretfully in his lap.  “I’m just getting your blindfold.”

 

“Oh.” Hanbin says blankly, as Junhwe returns swiftly with a white silk blindfold in his right hand, and something curious in the left; a sturdy, glossy white plastic mask that seems like it’d cover only the top half of his face, a mask with no eyeholes.  “What’s that?”

 

“The blindfold is to keep you from seeing, and this one—” Junhwe holds up the plastic mask, “—goes over the top of it.  It keeps you from being recognizable, and like I told you earlier tonight, theatrics are very important here.  Afterward, I’ll take care of everything and keep you safe.”

 

“Okay.” Hanbin says, swallowing his nerves back.  He closes his eyes.  “I’m ready.”

 

“Here goes.” Junhwe says, stretching the elastic band of the blindfold out and slipping it neatly over Hanbin’s head, trying very hard not to let his fingers brush Hanbin’s cheek, because he knows if he feels the texture of Hanbin’s skin he’s never going to get over it.  “How’s that feel?” He says.

 

“It’s good.” Hanbin says, some of the tension leaving him already, his shoulders slumping a little as Junhwe fits the white plastic mask gently over the top.  Hanbin’s well-hidden like this, only the bottom half of his face visible from nose to chin, his lips pink and soft and firm.

 

Junhwe reaches out automatically, intending to smooth some of Hanbin’s hair down underneath the blindfold; but he remembers himself just in time, snatching his hand back as if Hanbin had bitten him and jamming clenched fists into his pockets sullenly, gritting his teeth.  He spares a moment to curse himself viciously for his carelessness; it doesn’t matter that he hadn’t done it—he’d _wanted_ to, overcome with affection for this vision of Hanbin, and that’s bad enough.

 

“You feel okay?  Still want to do this?” Junhwe says, biting his lip and pleading with all the powers that be that Hanbin’s answer is _no_.

 

“Yes.” Hanbin says at once.  “I’m ready.”

 

“Grab my hand, and I’ll lead you out on stage.  After that, all you have to do is listen to my directions; if I don’t tell you anything, just stay still until I do.”

 

“Got it.” Hanbin says, holding up a hand, and Junhwe hesitates for only the slightest second before taking it, Hanbin’s fingers sliding warm and soft into his grip as he pulls himself up and overbalances just slightly.

 

The stage is still dark, and Junhwe walks carefully alongside Hanbin, leading him out to the center of it, keeping his own body between Hanbin’s and the edge of the dais.  “Stand here.  I want you to put your hands behind your back and keep your head angled down.  Don’t move until I tell you.” Junhwe says calmly.

 

“Yes.” Hanbin says, shivering slightly.  He can hear the rumble of conversation on the floor, the thud of music, and he imagines that he can feel the pressure of a hundred gazes on his body, though in reality the stage is still too dark to see anything.

 

Bobby, however, restless and eager and close to the stage, sees them at once, Hanbin’s white undershirt picking up the red light from the main floor.  Beside him, Junhwe’s only just visible, his black suit blending far better into the dark background, so that his presence registers more as a tease of movement on the edge of the awareness, rather than anything solid.

 

Gradually the rest of the club becomes aware of the stage, the little flash of brightness that is Hanbin’s shirt hanging apparently unsupported in the dark, and the buzz and clatter of conversation begins to dwindle as curiosity takes hold.  Bobby feels a little swell of pride and excitement in his chest, and he leans forward, breathless.

 

Slowly, so dim and subtle Bobby can hardly tell if he’s imagined it, a spotlight appears, focusing on Hanbin.  And still ever so slowly, it brightens, and with that begins to give up details one by one:  Hanbin appearing slowly out of the darkness, standing with his feet slightly spread, hands held behind his back and head inclined modestly toward the crowd.  The bright halo begins to reveal the folds and soft wrinkles of Hanbin’s white shirt, the glossy white mask that blinds him, anonymizing the smooth lines of his face.  

 

Bobby’s close enough to see the part of his plush lips beneath the velvety shadow of the mask.  He can only just tell it’s Hanbin, and that, he thinks, is only because he knows Hanbin so well.

 

Junhwe strolls onto the stage too, appearing as suddenly as if he’d just popped out of thin air, with a bundle of vivid, shiny blue rope coiled thick and relaxed around his upper arm.  He’s so calm, he doesn’t even seem to notice the watching crowd.  Perhaps he’s too blinded by the intensity of the spotlight.  Somehow, Bobby doesn’t think so; Junhwe is exuding a powerful focus, a certain type of presence that’s trained in its entirety on Hanbin, and the entire room holds its breath in order not to miss whatever Junhwe is about to do.

 

Junhwe deposits the coiled rope to one side in a neat heap on the floor, straightening up slowly, his gaze cold and intense as he surveys Hanbin from head to toe.  Then, with measured, careful, deliberate steps, he begins to walk in patient, slow circles around Hanbin’s body, saying nothing, only the sound and impact of his boots on the stage floor giving Hanbin any indication of how close he is.  Hanbin gnaws on his upper lip in expectation, but he doesn’t flinch.

 

Junhwe reaches up, smothering the little flash of warning that surges through him, and he strokes Hanbin’s cheek slowly, hating himself for the heat surging through him in response to the texture of Hanbin’s lower lip against the brush of Junhwe’s thumb.  This is a show, and he’s a showman—but he’d known it from the start; the instant he touched Hanbin, it would all be over.

 

Nevermind.  He’s got to perform, and he forces himself to concentrate on what he’s doing.  He can panic afterward, and he’ll have the rest of his life to deal with the fallout.

 

What Junhwe doesn’t see in his moment of lost focus is how breathless Hanbin is already, the soft brush of Junhwe’s fingers grazing his jaw knocking the wind out of him as effectively as a blow to the diaphragm, his stomach giving a funny little swoop in response.

 

It’s a touch that none of them, not even Bobby, will forget about for the rest of the night.

 

And across the room, too, far from inciting the jealousy Junhwe had expected of him, Bobby is feeling quite the opposite:  He’s _excited_.   Junhwe had missed Hanbin’s reaction, and he certainly doesn’t see Bobby in the same state, watching everything with wide, keen eyes, savoring the pleasure of seeing Hanbin like this.

 

Junhwe picks up the rope.  “Put your hands together in front of your body.” He says coolly.

 

God, Hanbin’s so pliant already as Junhwe begins to wrap his wrists, his body frozen with exhilaration.  Junhwe’s hands are warm where they hold him steady, the rope cool and sturdy and snug against his wrists, and then his forearms, and then where it begins to spider over his shoulders.  He twists the rope around Hanbin again and again, his movements large and powerful and perfectly balanced, weaving a pattern that stands out beautifully against his white shirt.  

 

Junhwe begins to calm significantly too as he works, sinking into the rhythmic twists and knots until he’s almost in a trance himself, quite separate and cool from his own urgent, unbearably hot feelings over Hanbin.  At first he’d found it difficult to focus, but now that he’s begun, this is just another bondage session for a paying client.  He has to believe that.

 

Hanbin takes a deep breath, and then another.  It’s tight, unforgiving where it grips at him, but all the more satisfying for that; Hanbin finds himself becoming pleasantly heavy, sinking gradually into a calm so deep that he’s almost floating, in spite of his rapid heartbeats and quickening breathing.  

 

Junhwe’s the first to notice the slow creep of Hanbin’s limp receptivity, deep and submissive and _trusting_ , but it’s so apparent even Bobby can see it from where he’s sitting.  A word suggests itself to Bobby, one he’s only heard once, and he rolls the sound of it around on his tongue, realizing he’s seeing it for himself for the first time.   _Subspace_.

 

For Hanbin, it’s such a strange and pleasant feeling, not like himself at all, and he can’t help it.

 

He moans.

 

Junhwe’s so in his mode, so confident, so _good_ , that he doesn’t even pause to think about what he does next, though in some small part of his mind he knows it’ll haunt him forever.  With both trailing ends of the rope in one hand, he reins Hanbin in against his own body, pulling him tight and pressing himself against Hanbin’s back.  With the other hand, he reaches forward to cup Hanbin’s chin, holding him steady to speak into his ear.  “Yeah, you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

 

Hanbin shudders gently, nodding, lips parted.  Junhwe’s attention slips for just a moment at the sight of Hanbin’s flushed skin and swollen pink lips, but he shakes himself slightly, refocusing at once.  

 

“You’re doing great, just stay with me.” Junhwe murmurs, relishing the sound of Hanbin’s rapid breathing.  “Now kneel for me.”

 

Hanbin does, slumping obediently to his knees with only the barest control, as if he’s taken leave of his own body; he’s hardly aware of Junhwe’s boot resting on his shoulder, or of Junhwe using the loose ends of the ropes to guide him carefully down so that he doesn’t fall, until he’s balanced on spread knees and bound forearms.  The pressure of his body weight on the thickness of the rope leaves indents in his skin that he won’t register the soreness of until much later.  He’s too anesthetized to feel much of anything.

 

Bobby watches hungrily, taking in every pull and twist of rope, every single knot.  For all this time, Bobby had been enjoying himself, playing along with Hanbin and happy to find that Hanbin’s new desires suited his own so well.  

 

But now he’s captivated; Junhwe is so graceful and pretty, with his ridiculous vampire-prince good looks, utterly confident and perfectly at ease in his role; for the first time, Bobby understands exactly what that meant, what Junhwe had meant when he’d used the word _professional_.

 

He hadn’t been talking about business, Bobby can see that now.  This is pure pleasure.

 

And Bobby’s seeing a whole new side of Hanbin too, a Hanbin sunk fast and deep into that languid, vividly sensitive state of submissiveness Bobby had heard of, but had never really believed in before now.  He’s as drunk as Hanbin himself, his beer forgotten, his attention sunk in Hanbin’s parted lips and the deep, soft curve of his relaxed spine, all from the silky hold of the ropes.

 

But along with that little flare of breathless fascination comes something else, something less readily apparent and less comfortable besides:  Envy, greed, _lust_.  That should be Bobby and Hanbin together on the stage, Bobby’s rope and Hanbin’s subspace.  Bobby admires Junhwe almost without measure for this unexpected, near-magical ability to coax Hanbin into this state of submission, like a hypnotized cobra—but he wants it, too.  He wants that magic touch.

 

As Junhwe reaches between Hanbin’s legs to grab the trailing ends of the rope, exactly like he’s done a thousand times or more—ready to make the final tie and end this torment for both of them—his forearm brushes against Hanbin’s crotch, and he can feel the shape of Hanbin’s cock pressing against the denim, hard and ready for him.  

 

For Junhwe.

 

Junhwe’s iron focus fails him, right there and then.  For one horrible, blind instant, he’s reeling, forgetting where he is or what he’s doing.  It takes him a moment to return to himself, and he gives himself a brisk little shake back into his own mind, but the seductive haze of control is gone, and he’s left just—merely—himself, kneeling on a stage holding the ends of a rope and feeling lost.

 

He gathers himself clumsily, steeling his mind for the final knot, and then he pulls Hanbin up by a shoulder to show him off, the delicate webbed pattern of the rope showing clearly against Hanbin’s white shirt and jeans.

 

He gets to his feet to a smattering of whistles and subdued applause, and then he notices Bobby in the front row, not clapping, not moving, sitting rigid in his chair and staring wide-eyed up at them.  Junhwe doesn’t have much time to spare for the idea that Bobby is preparing to strangle him.  All he wants to do is get Hanbin backstage and untied so that he can sulk and self-loathe in private.

 

Not to mention getting Hanbin as far away from himself as possible, because this entire night has been solid proof that he can’t handle it.

 

Junhwe leads Hanbin offstage, straight-backed and feigning confidence, but feeling hideously awkward and disappointed at having fallen so flat at the end.  All the focus and control had left him in a moment, and he’d found himself at a loss, holding Hanbin’s ropes as if his dog had slipped its leash.

 

The moment Junhwe pulls Hanbin back behind the curtain, he lifts Hanbin’s blindfold out of the way, since Hanbin’s hands are still tied in front of him.  Hanbin blinks up at him with wonder; his long-lashed gaze is hazy, dazzled, as if half-blinded by the sun.  “You alright?” Junhwe says, putting a hand on Hanbin’s shoulder, and Hanbin nods vaguely.

 

“Yeah.” He says breathlessly.  “I’m good.  More than good.” He says.

 

What he doesn’t mention is how his stomach gives a funny, excited little dive into his pelvis again when he sees Junhwe’s expression, all wide-eyed in the dark and straight black eyebrows knitted in concern.  Hanbin dimly chalks the feeling up to subspace, but all the same, it’s unsettling.

 

“Good.  Let’s go back to the dressing room and I’ll get you untied.” Junhwe says.  Hanbin follows, pliant and serene, and in the little closet-sized alcove where Junhwe had collected the rope from in the first place, he unties every knot with as much care as he’d tied them, exceedingly cautious once again not to touch him.

 

Bobby finds his way backstage too just as Junhwe’s undoing the knots that secure Hanbin’s upper arms, and he’s as out of breath as if he’d been running, though it’s hardly a dozen paces from the tables to the dressing rooms on the whole.  Even still, he’d been so powerfully restless, aroused, anxious and thrilled all at once, and his urgent need to reassure himself that Hanbin’s alright has him panting.  He touches Hanbin gently all over, eager to have him back within arm’s reach.

 

Junhwe’s apprehensive of Bobby, but once again, it’s entirely unfounded; Bobby’s attention is fixed on the place where his hand cups Hanbin’s cheek, and Hanbin rolls his head against the touch, melting into it as Junhwe releases the last few loops of rope around Hanbin’s wrists.  “You okay, babe?” He murmurs.

 

“So good, Jiwon, oh my God.” Hanbin mumbles, leaning forward until he collapses heavily into Bobby’s waiting arms.  “That was so _awesome_.” His gaze is sleepy, heavy-lidded, eyes glazed, very much like the shitfaced College Hanbin of their youth; but this has a different quality, too, a deep, sweet tranquility Hanbin doesn’t gain from alcohol alone.

 

“So is this what subspace looks like?” Bobby says, looking at Junhwe, who glances at him as if gauging his seriousness before nodding.

 

“Yeah, at least in Hanbin’s case.  You’ve never seen this before?”

 

“Never.” Bobby says seriously, stroking Hanbin’s hair before pressing his face into Hanbin’s shoulder, inhaling the familiar smell of his body with deep happiness and relief.  Hanbin loops his arms lazily around Bobby’s neck, humming.  “Is that why you kept him tied up until you got back here?”

 

Junhwe gnaws on his lower lip.  In truth, he’d usually untie a volunteer on stage too, but he’d been so thrown at the end that he’d decided to cut it a little short.  However, there’s a convenient explanation for it, too, and it’s true enough, so he decides that one more white lie can’t possibly hurt.

 

“Well, to be honest, I didn’t know how he’d react.  Sometimes people cry or panic when they’re released from their ropes, especially when they’re really deep in subspace like that.  I figured he’d at least stay there if I kept him tied up, just in case he really did panic; that way he wouldn’t do it on stage.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Hanbin mumbles something into Bobby’s neck, and Bobby cuddles him a little closer, full of tenderness and concern, still completely shocked at Hanbin’s dissembled state and how easily Junhwe had broken him down with hardly any effort.  Or so it appeared to Bobby, anyway.

 

But there’s also a vague sense, too, that this hadn’t been merely something Junhwe had done _to_ Hanbin, or _for_ him; all three of them had been involved somehow.  Odder still, it had meant something different to each of them, feeling the distant rumble of gears set into motion, though to which machines they belong none of them could even guess.  

 

Junhwe’s winding up the ropes, listening to Hanbin purr his appreciation into Bobby’s shoulder.  As usual, he can’t help his big, dumb mouth.  “Hey, you two, where’s _my_ aftercare?” He teases, looping the last few feet of rope into its neat coil.

 

Bobby blinks, and then he lifts an arm in joking invitation; Hanbin turns to look, disturbed by the movement, and then he too puts a hand out.  Junhwe shakes his head, flushing.  “Nah, it’s okay.” He says, hanging up the rope on a hook sticking out of the wall.

 

“C’mere.” Hanbin says softly.

 

Junhwe blinks, shaking his head again, but this time in defeat rather than refusal; he takes a deep breath, moving across to them, and rather than jumping in among them, he allows them to reel him in, Hanbin’s hand sliding under Junhwe’s suit jacket to glide across his lower back, Bobby’s around his shoulders.

 

“You know, I was kidding, but…” Junhwe says with a little laugh.  Hanbin leans his head contentedly against Junhwe’s chest, a tamed lion; Junhwe takes another deep breath, but he doesn’t fight it. This is about comfort now, and even though it still makes his stomach do several backflips, it’s satisfying rather than provocative.

 

“Shut up and enjoy your aftercare.” Bobby teases.

 

And to Bobby’s surprise, the contact is deeply soothing in a way he hadn’t expected.  But he’d been powerfully anxious, deeply invested in the performance, and maybe he’d been in the mindset too more than he’d initially thought.  And the weight of Junhwe’s arm around his shoulders is comfortable, Hanbin heavy and warm and so calm in his arms…He gives a little mental shrug.  Why _shouldn’t_ he allow himself to take comfort in this, in finding Hanbin so warm and happy, in his gratefulness to Junhwe for taking such good care of Hanbin for him?

 

Junhwe gently disengages himself from them after a minute or two, clearing his throat uncomfortably.  “Okay, Jiwon, you officially have your boyfriend back.  I’ve got to finish clearing stuff up back here, because the longer I stand here, the less I want to leave.” He says, ruffling Hanbin’s hair in a friendly way.  “By the way, that was absolutely amazing, Hanbin.  Thanks for that.”

 

Hanbin hums, deeply satisfied and maybe still just a little derailed.  Junhwe excuses himself from the dressing room, leaving Hanbin and Bobby alone, and goes to find Yunhyeong.

 

Yunhyeong is waiting for him by the bar, a wad of cash in one hand, but as he reaches up to offer it, Junhwe pushes his hand away sharply.  “I changed my mind.  I don’t want the money.  I’m—” he huffs with frustration, agitated.  “I’m really sorry for what happened up there, Yunhyeong.”

 

Yunhyeong scowls at him suspiciously.  “Okay, what the actual fuck are you talking about?”

 

“That performance was a fucking _disaster_.” Junhwe says, burying his face in his hands.  He feels inexplicably close to tears, the disappointment of the show finally catching up to him now that his power high has worn off.

 

“Are you shitting me?” Yunhyeong says incredulously, reaching out to take Junhwe by the wrist, prying his hand away to look him in the eyes.  “A disaster?  Junhwe, I’ve watched you perform that routine a hundred times, and you’ve never— _never_ —done it better than you did tonight.”

 

Junhwe blinks, shocked into silence, and Yunhyeong shakes his head.  “Seriously, dude.  Never seen you do better.”

 

“Don’t blow smoke up my ass.” Junhwe snaps.  He doesn’t know why he feels so nettled by Yunhyeong’s praise, or where his irritability is coming from, but for whatever reason, he doesn’t want to hear this.

 

“Wouldn’t be the first thing I’ve put up there.  Now quit being a shit or I’ll sic Donghyuk on you.” Yunhyeong says calmly.  He holds out the little wad of cash again, and when Junhwe makes no move to take it, he simply slips it into the waist pocket of Junhwe’s suit jacket.  Then he pats Junhwe’s face affectionately, smiling, and turns away to attend to someone else’s urgent call, leaving Junhwe stunned and silent, hands hanging limply at his sides.

 

*

 

The sheets are wonderfully cool as Bobby pulls them up over Hanbin’s body, and then he rolls over to tuck Hanbin into his chest, thumb stroking along the line of his cheek.  “So you liked that, huh?” Bobby murmurs.

 

Hanbin hums pleasantly, grinning.  He hadn’t talked much on the way home, too serene to be bothered with such mundane things like conversation, and it seems he’s still a little behind even now.  To be fair, all three of them had been rather quiet, each mired in a thousand curious thoughts, processing what had just happened.  “Yeah.  Really, really good.  What did you think?”

 

“It was really fucking hot, actually.”  Bobby chuckles.  “You looked amazing tied up like that.  I gotta give Junhwe his fair credit too; I’m man enough to admit he’s one good-looking son of a bitch.”

 

“Didn’t bother you, then?”

 

“Why would it bother me?” Bobby says curiously.

 

“Mm, just because it was Junhwe, that’s all.  Just wondered.” Hanbin murmurs.

 

“I wasn’t bothered at all.  I mean, all he did was tie you up, it’s not like he banged you on stage or anything.  That probably would’ve bothered me.  But honestly, I enjoyed that a lot.  He really knows what he’s doing.”

 

Hanbin rubs his face against Bobby’s collarbone, mumbling his agreement, and then he says, “Wouldn’t say no to that again, either.  Especially ‘cause god damn, Jiwon, that made me _so_ fucking horny.”

 

“Oh yeah?” Bobby says with interest.  “Okay, I feel like that should make me jealous.” He teases.

 

“No no.  Not Junhwe.  Just the rope.  Rope always makes me horny.” Hanbin shakes his head, purring absently.  “That was just like…the best rope.”

 

“Still horny, then?” Bobby prompts, tickling Hanbin’s ribs, and Hanbin giggles.

 

“Maaaaybe.” Hanbin pushes Bobby’s hands away.  “Why don’t you find out?”

 

“I don’t know why I even bother to ask sometimes, not when you’ve been rubbing yourself off on my hip for the last five minutes.” Bobby says.

 

“Hehehe.”

 

 


	9. Chapter 9: Strike

Hanbin spends the next half a day or so in a daze, his expression dreamy and pleasantly faraway.  He’s usually clingy and cuddly, so that’s nothing new in particular, but now he’s soft, melting into Bobby’s arms at random moments throughout the day, floating around loose-limbed and calm like a jellyfish.

 

Only to be brought back to Earth on Monday morning with the force of a meteor impact.

 

With two of Hanbin’s fellow accountants suddenly struck down with the seasonal crud of the week, Hanbin’s suddenly shunted roughly into ludicrous overtime, staggering in each night well after dinner, disheveled and wild-eyed with fatigue.  Bobby’s frustrated too, helpless to ease his stress levels, wanting more than anything to fix it but coming up empty-handed each time.

 

And Hanbin _won’t_ be helped, either, sitting down heavily on the sofa, too tired to eat and too hysterical to sleep, rebuffing Bobby’s attentions out of sheer delirium.  He’s also far too exhausted for sex, though Bobby selfishly thinks that’s probably about half of his problem, and that getting laid would probably relax him a lot.  It’s been most of a week by now, and Bobby understands why, but that doesn’t keep him from being a little impatient.

 

Not to mention, after their night out at the Cherry Pit, Bobby had been quietly apprehensive of whether things might be awkward with Junhwe.  He’d been relieved, however, when Junhwe had returned to his brash and noisy self, as if nothing had ever happened.

 

For Bobby, however, it’s a different story.

 

He’s playing video games, the clack of controller buttons noisy even over the sound of the game itself, but his heart isn’t really in it; he’s still stuck on Saturday night, a little mental loop playing in the back of his brain.  

 

He doesn’t have very sharp memories of it all, oddly enough.  His recollections are hazy, as if remembering it all through a smoked lens, though all that does is make him pursue the memory even more intently, determined to recall as exactly as he possibly can the blue rope on Hanbin’s white shirt, the outline of his body, the way Junhwe had stroked his cheek…

 

The video games would be a welcome distraction, if only he could stop obsessing; but the reality is that the idea has taken hold of him so tightly that he can hardly breathe, as if those ropes were constricting his own ribs.  As it happens, Bobby’s reality is rather more interesting than fantasy right now.

 

Junhwe is poking around in the kitchen, microwaving a bag of instant popcorn and scorching it badly; he coughs from the smoke as he shakes out the last kernels into a bowl, and Bobby wrinkles his nose.  “I swear to god, Junhwe, you _suck_ at popcorn.”

 

“I did warn you.” Junhwe says, poking his head out of the kitchen.  “I can’t be trusted with anything more complicated than cereal.”

 

He sits down heavily in his armchair next to the couch, holding the bowl of popcorn out to Bobby; Bobby looks at it in distaste before grabbing up a handful anyway, cramming it into his mouth between button-mashing sprees.

 

Junhwe doesn’t seem to want to talk much, however, for which Bobby’s slightly grateful; the intensity of the game has briefly seized his attention, and he’s a little too occupied to carry on a conversation just now.  Junhwe rocks back and forth in his armchair, watching with mild interest, munching popcorn and wiping his hands on his pants.

 

But the moment the intensity of the game dwindles and frees up a few neurons, Bobby’s thoughts return to the thing that’s been haunting him all week.  It’s like a film has been waiting to start in his head, and his attention drifts slowly over onto Junhwe, who’s still watching without comment.

 

Bobby gnaws on his lip, wanting to speak, words suddenly backed up in his throat.  He doesn’t know how to say what’s been on his mind, or if it’ll even be welcome.

 

As usual, pressure wins out over sense.  “Thanks for what you did for Hanbin on Saturday.” Bobby hears himself say, and feels his mouth move, though he can’t remember giving either of those things permission to happen.

 

Junhwe freezes mid-chew, hand pausing halfway to his mouth with bits of popcorn dropping steadily from his slackening grip into his lap.  Bobby flushes, not quite meeting his eye.  Oh god, why does he have to go red _now?_

 

“Oh.” Junhwe says blankly, swallowing hard, his heart suddenly slamming against his breastbone like it intends to beat its way out of his chest altogether.  “Uh, yeah.  It was…yeah, it was really fun.” He adds, just as awkwardly.

 

Because the truth is that it was more than fun; it had gone directly past _fun_ , barely slowing down at _arousing_ before shooting right through _excruciating_.  Junhwe’s been in knots of every kind since Saturday, and he’s starting to seriously consider calling Yunhyeong for a roll in the hay, just to take some of the heat out of his blood.  (Yunhyeong’s help may or may not be useful here, but that doesn’t stop Junhwe from holding out hope for a new client or, at the very least, a lengthy and convoluted gripe session.)

 

“Hey, so,” Bobby says abruptly, as if he hadn’t just initiated a different conversation, “I was kinda curious—like how—I mean, what do you—” he fumbles for words, going redder still, “—as a Dom, what kind of things do you _do_?”

 

Junhwe relaxes a little; he’d expected something different, but this is such an earnestly curious question that he almost laughs.

 

“Well, that answer really depends on the client.  I talk to someone new beforehand, see what they want and discuss money and arrangements.  I sometimes meet them once or twice before we actually have a session, but for the most part I just give them what they ask for.  I have a few hard limits, mostly because I’m kinda squeamish, and I also don’t have sex with my clients—way too dangerous, and illegal besides.  If I did, I could triple my going rates, but it’s just not really worth the risk.

 

“But most of the time, my specialty is rope bondage, though I’m pretty sure _that_ was obvious as hell.  I can tie someone up all day long with whatever I have at hand, and be happy as…well, happy as a Dom with a rope, I suppose.” He really does laugh at his own joke here, but Bobby is now looking at him directly, curious and eager; he doesn’t even notice that his character is dying repeatedly onscreen, only to respawn in the same place and die again.

 

“Like Saturday night?” Bobby says eagerly.

 

Junhwe hesitates, gnawing on his lower lip, wishing Bobby hadn’t just said that.  It’s all he can do not to think about it already, the thought spinning around uselessly in his brain; he has no idea that Bobby’s in the same state.  All he knows is that he feels hideously guilty.  He’s terrified of Bobby somehow seeing it on his face, and he’s more cautious still of allowing Bobby’s enthusiasm to coax him into letting his guard down.

 

“Yeah, like that.” Junhwe says carefully.  “Hanbin was way more into those ropes than I think either of us expected.”

 

Bobby grins, remembering it fondly.  “Yeah, he really was.” He says, missing Junhwe’s careful deflection of the question.  Junhwe lets out a tiny sigh of relief.  “You know, this whole thing started because of Hanbin.  I started doing it because he wanted to, and it ended up being nice that we both liked it.”

 

Junhwe smiles, and if it’s a little tight in the corners, Bobby’s still lost in reminiscence, and he doesn’t notice.

 

“How’d you learn to tie ropes?” Bobby says after a pause, helping himself to another handful of Junhwe’s popcorn.  “Maybe they can teach you to make popcorn too.”

 

Junhwe laughs.  “Yunhyeong.  He learned in Japan and let me practice on him.”

 

“Are you and Yunhyeong…you know…together?”

 

Junhwe chews his lip again.  Bobby’s questions are flipping wildly between the innocuous and deeply personal, and while Junhwe doesn’t outright mind the curiosity, it seems as if Bobby is trying to feel Junhwe out, and the pattern of relaxation and tension as he anticipates the next question—already having strayed dangerously close to the subject of his feelings about Hanbin—is beginning to give him whiplash.

 

Junhwe’s quiet for so long that Bobby finally looks away, blushing and embarrassed.  “Sorry, that’s—er, that’s not really any of my business, huh.”

 

Junhwe sighs deeply.  “At one point, we were, but that was a long time ago.  Freshman year of college, though we met just before high school graduation.  We were together for about a year before he got picked up for an exchange program to Japan, and that kind of distance just wasn’t easy to handle for a couple of immature nineteen-year-olds.  Not to mention, two Doms is a tricky relationship dynamic, and we couldn’t get what we needed from each other.  He came back a year later, we got back together, but we’d already changed too much to be compatible anymore.  He did have all this awesome shibari knowledge, though, and he passed it on to me.” Junhwe smiles fondly.  

 

“But then I introduced him to Donghyuk, and they’ve been together ever since. They opened the Cherry Pit together a couple of years ago.  They’re amazing people, and an amazing partnership.”

 

Bobby nods.  “You sound kind of sad about it.” He ventures cautiously.

 

Junhwe shakes his head, smiling.  “Not anymore.  Yunhyeong is my best friend, and I had a very long time to get over it.  No, I’m honestly not sad about it at all.” He says earnestly.  “He taught me so much of what I know, and he’s gone to bat for me so many times that I—”

 

And then he stops suddenly, glancing warily at Bobby, whose eyebrows rise with interest, encouraging Junhwe to continue.  Junhwe sighs again.  “—well, let’s just say that I owe him a lot of debt in life.”

 

“Sorry.” Bobby says, though he’s not sure what exactly he’s apologizing for; he simply feels the need to do so, and he can’t tell exactly whether it’s Junhwe’s rueful smile or his own sympathy that’s driving it.

 

“It’s okay, don’t apologize.” Junhwe says, waving the apology away.  “You didn’t do anything wrong.  I’d tell you if I didn’t want to answer something.”

 

“Do you have a boyfriend now?” Bobby says curiously.

 

“No.”

 

“What?  How is that possible?”

 

Junhwe feels a little wash of relief and triumph at Bobby’s incredulity, because he’s just been dealt a perfect opportunity to make excuses for his singleness.  “I’ve just been single for awhile now, and it’s okay.  I don’t really have that much time to date with work, and I get almost everything I could need or want from client sessions, when I take them.”

 

Bobby nods, sucking on his lower lip thoughtfully.  Then he hesitates, trying to gather the last of the courage he’d been working up throughout the whole conversation to ask the question that had been pressing at him the whole time.

 

“Would you teach me?”

 

Junhwe looks sharply up at Bobby.  Bobby holds Junhwe’s gaze with steady determination, but the flush is creeping up his neck again, and he swallows hard; Junhwe sees the sharp protrusion of his adam’s apple jump in his throat.  “Teach you what?” Junhwe finally says, his heart pounding again with urgency he can’t pinpoint.

 

“Uh, ropes, I guess.” Bobby says, shrugging.

 

Junhwe considers this for a moment.  “I guess I could do that.  I—” Junhwe hesitates again, “—yeah, sure, I’ll teach you.  As repayment for letting me use Hanbin on stage, I won’t even charge you for a few lessons.”

 

“Wait, charge me?” Bobby says suspiciously, throwing Junhwe a keen sidelong glance.

 

“You probably knew this already, but rope bondage is my thing.  As for money, you know what they say; if you’re good at something, you shouldn’t do it for free.” Junhwe says.

 

Bobby nods.  “Fair point.” He says.  This is what Hanbin had been talking about, he realizes—being paid what he’s worth.  He tucks that into the back of his mind for later consideration.  “What about other stuff?  Could you teach me that too?”

 

But Bobby knows immediately that he’s gone too far; something closes off in Junhwe’s eyes, and he doesn’t look welcoming at all.  “What other stuff?” He says coolly.

 

“You know, Dominant stuff.  I want to…y’know, just be good at it for Hanbin.” Bobby says awkwardly, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling at Junhwe’s forbidding expression.  “Sorry, you can—er, just forget I asked.”

 

Junhwe sighs suddenly, his cold eyes squeezing shut as he reaches up to rub his forehead.  “No, Jiwon.” He says flatly.  “I don’t give lessons like that anymore.  Maybe…” He continues, looking back up at Bobby, and while all the iciness has left his expression, there’s still a complicated, wary sadness there that Bobby sees for only an instant before it’s walled off again.  “I can teach you ropes, but not the other stuff.  Not now.”

 

Bobby fidgets uncomfortably with a hole in his jeans, wishing he hadn’t asked.  “Alright.” He says.

 

They’re quiet for a minute, the silence stretching out painfully awkward and uncertain.  Finally, Junhwe says, “Since Hanbin won’t be back till late again, are you planning on cooking, or do you want to go get some food?”

 

“Probably go get food.” Bobby says, seizing onto the topic change with relief.  “How about we go to the bowling alley?”

 

“Junk food, huh?” Junhwe says, raising one straight black eyebrow in sardonic amusement.  “Are you just saying that ‘cause Hanbin won’t let you eat nachos?”

 

“Hanbin lets me eat whatever I want.” Bobby shoots back.  “Let’s go bowling.”

 

“Ah, I hate bowling.” Junhwe says, just a little plaintively.

 

“You’re just saying that cause the shoes make you look like a demon clown.  Well, to be fair, you already look like one, the shoes just enhance the overall vibe.” Bobby teases.

 

“Well, I hadn’t thought of that, but that’s a good reason.  I also hate bowling because I’m a pretty shitty bowler.”

 

“It’s not like I’m taking you to the world championships here, dude.  Just you, me, and a pitcher of beer to improve your playing ability.” Bobby says, standing up eagerly.  “Come on, let’s go.”

 

“What, right now?” Junhwe says, as Bobby gets to his feet.

 

“No, next week.” Bobby rolls his eyes, grabbing a jacket and swinging it around to pull it on.  “ _Yes_ , right now.  I’m fucking starving.”

 

Junhwe sighs, recognizing defeat when he sees it, and follows Bobby out the door.

 

 

*

 

 

To Junhwe’s slightly drunken amazement, he starts off the night with two respectable spares in a row.  Bobby regards him with a raised eyebrow at this disparity.

 

“I thought you said you were a terrible bowler!” He says indignantly.

 

“I am,” Junhwe says, munching on a soggy, limp nacho soaked with yellow cheese, “it just sometimes takes a few minutes to register.”

 

And as promised, Junhwe’s game declines steadily from that point on, though whether it’s actual poor ability or sheer drunkenness defeating him is debatable.  They work their way steadily through a pitcher of foamy, weak-tasting beer, Junhwe’s number of gutterballs increasing proportionally with every plastic cup Bobby pours him, Bobby crying with laughter at Junhwe’s every comically bad throw.

 

Junhwe waves his hands wildly in frustration after a half-dozen misses in a row, annoyed that Bobby’s just as drunk as he is, and especially that Bobby’s actually bowling _better_ now that they’re halfway through their second pitcher of beer.  Strike after satisfying strike, the rumbling crash of pins scattering as Bobby nails every single roll—it’s just not _fair_.  Not while Junhwe’s been on his own turn for five minutes now, complaining loudly with his fingers stuck in the holes of a hot-pink bowling ball.

 

Bobby bowls in Junhwe’s place for a beautiful spare before returning to help free Junhwe’s hand from the pink ball.  “Hey, look, you finally got some points.” Bobby says smugly, nodding toward the scorecard.  Junhwe sneers and rolls his eyes, making a mocking duck-beak gesture with fingers and thumb.  

 

He flexes his bruised fingers, wincing, before pouring himself some more beer and draining half the cup at once.  “Okay, so, I won’t be using the pink ball anymore.” Junhwe says grumpily.

 

“Too small for your big manly hands?”

 

“Something like that.”

 

“Poor wittle Junhwe,” Bobby simpers, poking out a lower lip, “got his fingers owied.  Don’t worry, I’ll make it better.” He says, taking Junhwe’s hand in both of his own and bending down to kiss it with pursed lips.

 

Junhwe jerks his hand back with a shriek of laughter, shaking it off in mock disgust as Bobby collapses into the seat, laughing so hard he nearly dry-heaves.  “Augh!  Don’t get your cooties on me!  You don’t know where this hand has been.”

 

“You’ve already got my cooties on you!” Bobby accuses as Junhwe moves around the table to choose a different bowling ball from the retrieval line.  It’s evident in the lean, relaxed lines of his body that he’s already shitfaced, his muscles not quite acting in sync.  He lines up, tiptoes forward, and forgets to release the ball on the upswing; it lands with a heavy _thud_ halfway down the lane, carried all the rest of the way down the lane to the end by Junhwe’s cursing.

 

Only to crash into the pins for a perfect strike.  Bobby regards Junhwe with an impressed sort of grin, helping himself to more nachos and drunkenly wiping a streak of sticky yellow cheese on his pantleg before moving into his own turn.

 

Junhwe divides the last of the second pitcher into his and Bobby’s cups, but by now they’re both so hammered that judgement of volume is notional, rather than an actual ability, and he spills a good portion of it on the table.  Bobby sops it up with a handful of napkins, then drains the last of his cup.

 

The end of the second pitcher coincides with a text from Hanbin, informing Bobby that he’s on his way home, so he and Junhwe turn in their bowling shoes and spill out onto the sidewalk, drunker with every step.  Bobby’s half-unbuttoned flannel shirt hangs loosely off to one side to show his white wifebeater and bared shoulder underneath.

 

Junhwe smothers a belch into his sleeve, and Bobby hiccups as they sway in step alongside one another down the sidewalk; when Junhwe stumbles, he throws an arm around Bobby’s shoulders to right himself.

 

The problem with that is that Bobby’s hardly less shitfaced than Junhwe.  Junhwe hangs onto Bobby like a life preserver, and Bobby slings an arm around Junhwe’s back to keep them both steady as they trip over each other as often as they stumble over the cracks in the sidewalk, singing a loud song together at varying tempos that don’t often match.

 

The streets are still crowded at this hour, so their drunken caterwauling isn’t particularly noteworthy among the crowded side-streets, still bustling and noisy with bars and shops and brightly-lit signs.  They wander hazily between food stalls, dodging other drunken bar patrons and inhaling the wonderful smells of street food, wishing they hadn’t loaded down so much on junk food at the bowling alley.

 

Junhwe complains at length about having eaten so many nachos while staring wistfully at a display of bright-red, sauce-soaked tteokbokki skewers.  Finally, Bobby rummages in his pocket for a handful of change and passes it over in exchange for two of the skewers.

 

“But I’m not hungry.” Junhwe protests as Bobby holds one out to him.

 

“Eat it.  It’ll plug the hole.” Bobby slurs.

 

“Do what now?”

 

“Your face hole.  It’s making all these whining noises.  Eat it.”

 

Junhwe takes the skewer from him, looking at it dubiously with unfocused eyes, cheeks flushed with intoxication.  Then he dots Bobby on the nose with it, leaving behind a spot of spicy red sauce.

 

Bobby spends a moment attempting to tongue the sauce off his nose, looking spectacularly ungraceful and sending Junhwe into peals of high-pitched giggles, and finally Junhwe takes pity on him and rubs at the sauce unhelpfully with his sleeve, worsening the spot into an orange stain on the bridge of Bobby’s nose.  Bobby jerks himself away from Junhwe’s hold, rubbing his own nose ruefully.  “Not so hard, you boob, you’re gonna get it in my eye.”

 

“Booby Bobby.” Junhwe singsongs, sucking _gochujang_ noisily off one of his rice cakes and chewing it loudly.  Bobby pushes him, and he stumbles, still giggling.

 

Eventually, after wasting some time swordfighting with their empty skewers in the square, they begin to stagger the rest of the way back home, still singing lustily to one another.  Junhwe helps Bobby up when he trips up the stairs and bangs his shins on the landing, all the way up to the apartment where Hanbin’s just arrived home not five minutes before.

 

Bobby had neglected to mention that he and Junhwe had gotten completely wasted, but Hanbin isn’t stupid; he’d figured it out when Bobby’s text replies had slowly declined from the semi-legible “ _ok  babe wre on way ho m_ ” to the perfectly undecipherable “ _iJnhe nd boing ive yo_ ”.  

 

Junhwe collapses on top of his mussed bed without undressing, grinning to himself before rolling effortfully over and wriggling out of his jeans, kicking them lazily down to the end of the bed.  His lips are warm from the spicy heat of the gochujang, and he knows he’s going to regret not brushing his teeth tonight, but lying here in bed is smothering, a deep, hypoxic sort of drift.

 

In this addled state, thoughts fly across his mind like distant birds—close enough to hear, but too far off to make out against the dark background of his muddled brain.  Bobby’s question from earlier swims ponderously to the forefront of his thoughts:   _Would you teach me?_

 

And he’d said _no_ initially, _not now._

 

He closes his eyes, with one last dimly-lit thought before he passes out.

 

 _Maybe later_.

 

 


	10. Chapter 10: Contrast

_The sound of deep, panting breaths, and the soft feel of skin imprinted by rough rope, a high-pitched moan of pleasure at the sound of flesh impacting hot flesh—_

 

_Another pair of eyes, another pair of hands joins him, fingers snaring in the ropes, and Junhwe can’t see his face, but there’s a renewed response from whoever’s in the middle, and—_

 

Junhwe jerks awake with a gasp, half-sitting up in surprise only to be bowled back over by a sickly flood of nausea that makes him pale and tremble with weakness, his headache throbbing furiously in his temples.

 

The second thing he becomes aware of, after the ebb of the wave of revulsion, is the raging hard-on tenting his boxer-briefs.  It too gives a furious throb, demanding his attention just as urgently as the sudden, vicious dry-heave that wracks him, wringing his whole body tight and sending him bolting for the trash can by the desk.

 

Junhwe takes a deep breath, stubbornly wiping away tears pushed out by the pressure of his rebelling stomach, gulping back alternate surges of heat and nausea and willing at least one of them to give way.  He feels like jerking off would make him vomit, but quite frankly, vomiting is _all_ he feels like doing, and he slumps pathetically against the chair, breath ragged and hoping desperately that whatever enthusiastic thing he consumed last night is on its way back up.

 

Junhwe’s _almost_ glad for the sick pressure of the hangover; he might be beyond miserable, but at least the nausea is winning out over his goddamn dick.  He shifts slightly to relieve the pressure on his left leg, which is slowly going numb, taking deep, steadying breaths to calm himself.

 

It doesn’t work, and a second or two later Junhwe seizes the trash can, one hand clinging grimly to the edge of the desk as he empties his stomach of foulness.

 

He wipes his face and mouth off on a nearby t-shirt, feeling as if all the blood in his body has congealed, his brain little more than a mass of jelly in his skull, the inside of his dry mouth tasting just about on par. His knees shake violently as they take his weight.  Suddenly, he’s dying for some juice, if only to kill the ungodly taste in his mouth.

 

He takes a moment in the bathroom to splash water on his face and rinse his mouth out, and then staggers into the living room, shielding his eyes from the bright sun glaring into the apartment as if God himself intends to light the sofa on fire. He grunts his displeasure and ducks into the kitchen for the express purpose of a cup of coffee to orient his nerves in the right direction.

 

As his sore eyes slowly adjust, Junhwe realizes that Hanbin’s in the living room, sitting alone on the sofa and staring out the window blankly.  He hadn’t seen him in the brightness, and Hanbin hadn’t moved nor spoken, so Junhwe had overlooked him completely until now.

 

“Hanbin?” He says automatically in surprise.

 

“‘Lo.” Hanbin mumbles, his head turning back toward Junhwe slightly but still not looking at him.

 

Junhwe peers at him curiously, squinting against the brightness; Hanbin’s white hoodie isn’t helping, throwing back the sunlight into Junhwe’s swollen, sensitive eyes, but Junhwe thinks his face is flushed, and his voice had been soft and tight, thick with emotion.

 

“You okay?” He croaks, wincing at how raw he sounds.  He clears his throat.

 

“Yes.” Hanbin says stiffly, rousing Junhwe’s suspiciousness further.

 

“What’s wrong?” Junhwe slurs.

 

Hanbin sniffles, getting to his feet, and Junhwe realizes that his cheeks are wet, his eyes puffy.  “Nothing,” he says, laughing unconvincingly.  “I’m okay.”

 

Junhwe feels such a stir of gentleness and pity for Hanbin that he’s around the breakfast bar and halfway across the living room before he reins himself in sharply.  “But you’re crying.” Junhwe says unsteadily.

 

“It’s alright.” Hanbin says repressively, wiping furiously at his eyes and biting his lip to smother the sob that makes his shoulders jerk silently.  “Just blowing off some steam after Hell Week.  Just dealing with it, okay?  You want some coffee?  You look like shit.”

 

“And you’ve got a big nose.” Junhwe shoots back listlessly.  “No, I’ll get it myself.” His hangover is his own fault, and only partially Bobby’s, and Junhwe feels wholly undeserving of any favors Hanbin might want to do for him, even though he recognizes Hanbin’s insistence on doing so as a transparent attempt to derail the conversation.

 

Hanbin merely attempts to push past him into the kitchen, and Junhwe halfheartedly puts up an arm to block his path.  “No, Hanbin, I don’t want—”

 

And somehow he manages to stumble, or step into Hanbin’s path and trip him up, or _something_ , but he pulls Hanbin in front of him to stop him from going into the kitchen, and Hanbin collides solidly with his chest, rebounding a step or two.

 

A deep, helpless sob echoes in Hanbin’s throat, and Junhwe registers with sudden alarm that Hanbin’s crying outright. He feels frozen where he stands, his brain so gummed-up that he hasn’t the slightest idea what to do, though he feels like the information is somewhere in there, stuck in the gears.

 

And the lurch in his stomach has nothing to do with his hangover.

 

Tentatively, he reaches out, putting a hand on Hanbin’s shoulder.  “Hanbin?”

 

Hanbin suddenly crumples, sobbing brokenly, unable to keep it back any longer.  Junhwe catches him up out of sheer instinct, holding him, Hanbin’s face tucked into his shoulder to muffle his crying.  This might not have been the best response from Junhwe’s perspective, but it seems as if it’s right on the money for Hanbin, whose fingers curl into the back of Junhwe’s t-shirt.

 

“S-sorry,” Hanbin chokes out, his chest heaving, and Junhwe pats him on the back soothingly, “fuck, I’m so sorry, I don’t know w-where this came f-from…”

 

“It’s fine, it’s alright.” Junhwe says, as calmly as he can manage.  He’s intensely self-conscious of how he must reek right now, being so disheveled and hungover, but at least it’s keeping him from being distracted by Hanbin’s close proximity and the smell of his hair, the solidness of his body, the feel of him so warm in Junhwe’s arms.  That, at least, is a good side effect of this hangover, being too sick and miserable to enjoy any part of this.

 

Hanbin shakes with another little muffled, choked sob, and then he pushes away from Junhwe gently, scrubbing stubbornly at his wet eyes with the sleeve cuff of his hoodie.  “I’m sorry.” He laughs ruefully.

 

“Don’t be.” Junhwe says honestly.  “Crying is good for you, and it sounds like you need to after that week.”

 

“I’m not done yet, but I’m already super embarrassed, so I’ll finish later.” Hanbin gives another weak laugh, face pale and cheeks flushed blotchily, and Junhwe smiles too.

 

“Okay, how about you go sit down and I’ll make _you_ a cup of coffee.” Junhwe says.

 

“But—”

 

“No arguments.” Junhwe cuts across him brusquely.  Hanbin lets his hand fall limply back to his side, and he sinks slowly into the dining room chair, fidgeting moodily with the sleeve of his hoodie while Junhwe brews two cups of coffee with hands that don’t seem to belong to him and a body that doesn’t want to cooperate.

 

Because Junhwe understands all too well.  Hanbin’s so strung out, hysterical exhaustion finally compounding on top of a week of little sleep, drawn so thin and fine he can hardly close his eyes.  At the end of his rope, the painful fatigue has his nerves screaming for a release he doesn’t even realize he needs.

 

And for all Junhwe’s sympathy and understanding, what Junhwe himself doesn’t realize is that—along with all the additional responsibility and late nights spent handling the four additional accounts belonging to his two sick coworkers—there’s something else, too, something pressing and uncomfortable, compounding Hanbin’s stress until he’s screaming inside for relief.

 

Because try as he might, and even with the added distraction of so much extra work, Hanbin can’t forget about the ropes. The first taste of an addiction is the most intense high.

 

It had been heaven to sink into that warm, soft, vulnerable space, a velvety hollow in the dark made perfectly for him and studded with stars behind closed eyelids.  Hanbin can’t stop imagining the tight hold of the ropes and the little pressure indents they had left in his skin for some time after Junhwe had released him, and Bobby running his fingertips softly over the marks.  

 

He’s been glad, in a way, to be spending so much time away from Junhwe, because it spares him the funny little dip his stomach performs every time he remembers it.

 

The kitchen is quiet but for Hanbin’s jerky breaths and Junhwe clattering around making coffee, both preoccupied with their own thoughts, with nary a clue whatsoever that their thoughts revolve around each other.

 

Junhwe’s hand shakes a little as he pours milk into Hanbin’s coffee, his thoughts not on Hanbin—not exactly, anyway—but Bobby.

 

Because he’s come to realize something strange about Bobby in the last few days.  For all Junhwe’s attraction to Hanbin, for all Hanbin’s beauty and humor and intellect, for as easily as Junhwe could fall for him with the tiniest push—none of that is the problem here.  Junhwe is well used to managing his urges; after all, what good is a Dom who can’t control himself?  

 

So no, nothing about Junhwe nor Hanbin is the problem here, not outright. Feelings happen, and he’s dealt with them before.  The problem, he muses, is most certainly Bobby.

 

Because were it not for Bobby, Junhwe might’ve had a chance at handling his feelings, at finding a way to channel them into something productive or at least distracting; and for all his ironclad, hard-won discipline, Bobby’s a bigger threat to Junhwe’s self-control than a loaded gun pointed right in his face.

 

Because Bobby _is_ that tiniest push.  He seems to be unconsciously teasing Junhwe, offering him exactly what he wants without realizing what he’s doing, getting them both hooked on something wonderful.  It’s not exactly Junhwe’s first rodeo, and he’s been around the block with addiction before—but _god_ , that first taste had been so _good_.  A lurch of guilt settles heavily in the bottom of his sour stomach, but he swallows it back thickly.

 

His hand trembles again as he passes Hanbin a steaming cup.  “Thank you.” Hanbin mumbles, blowing on it to cool, and Junhwe sits next to him at the table, leaning heavily on one hand and slurping gloomily at his own black coffee.

 

For awhile, it’s quiet between them, Hanbin occasionally biting back a sob, Junhwe chancing a look at him every so often; he’s swollen and tearful, his cheeks flushed and blotchy, and Junhwe’s once again moved by a flurry of gentleness and affection, so that it’s all he can do to stop himself moving across the table to kiss him.  

 

Once or twice Hanbin catches his eye, but Junhwe looks away quickly each time this happens.  Hanbin doesn’t ask or pursue any more conversation, and the silence is broken only by the sounds of sipping and the clatter of cups on the table.

 

Junhwe knows one thing for sure as his eyes slide absently across the counter to land on the curve of Hanbin’s mouth.  It’s definitely time to get laid, if only to take the edge off the relentless hunger Hanbin incites in him and that Bobby unknowingly encourages.

 

He takes his phone out of his pocket to text Yunhyeong, only to realize the battery’s dead, and he catches a glimpse of his own pathetic reflection in the dark screen, hair mussed and dirty, his face ash-pale and tight.  He grimaces and turns the phone facedown on the table; even if Yunhyeong and Donghyuk _are_ feeling generous, this is probably asking too much.

 

At the same time, Bobby appears at the door of his and Hanbin’s bedroom, looking quite as wretched as Junhwe feels; his hair stands up in greasy whorls, his eyes shadowed and narrowed against the sun filling the room, his jaw set against the nausea wringing his stomach.

 

He grunts a greeting to both of them, dragging himself slowly into the kitchen and running a hand over the back of Hanbin’s neck as he passes, lazily affectionate.  Hanbin gets to his feet to make Bobby a cup of coffee this time, and Junhwe watches him rise before draining the last of his cup.

 

“You feel as bad as I do?” Bobby says, surveying Junhwe through puffy, heavy eyes.

 

“Like microwaved death.” Junhwe mutters.

 

“That’s something, ‘cause you fuckin’ suck at microwaving things.” Bobby mumbles softly, rubbing his eyes.  “Thanks, babe.” He adds to Hanbin, leaning across to kiss him on the cheek as Hanbin pushes a mug of coffee into his hand.

 

Junhwe leans on his hand, smiling absently and bringing his mug to his mouth only to realize it’s empty.  It’s pleasant to see how much Bobby and Hanbin love each other, the tenderness with which they interact, so comfortable and easy and kind.  It doesn’t make Junhwe jealous or heartsick; it makes him curious, and he supposes that so much time together must do that to you, to build a partnership stronger and more resilient than the sum of the individuals that make it up.

 

Okay, so Junhwe’s really _not_ jealous.  Perhaps _envious_ is the applicable word.

 

Junhwe takes himself a long, _long_ shower, washing himself and then washing again, feeling as if he’s taking off layer after layer of misery and disgust; he washes himself a third time after he’s forced to duck out, dripping heavily, from under the hot spray to vomit up the coffee he’d just drunk.

 

But all told he feels far better for the shower, his face fuller and flushed now from the heat, though his eyes are still heavy and sunken; he feels better groomed, too, once he’s dried off, teeth brushed and his clean hair combed back off his face.  The nausea, too, has subsided with the hot water, not quite gone but not as crippling as it had been an hour before.

 

Towel draped over his head to block some of the sun making his temples pound, Junhwe collapses back on the bed in his room, half-charged phone in hand, and opens a message to Yunhyeong.

 

_Hey i need a favor_

 

But then he hesitates before sending it, gnawing on his lip, wondering if this is a good idea.  He’s shared just about everything with Yunhyeong up until now—including Donghyuk—so he wonders why, exactly, he feels so damn jumpy about asking.

 

He sends it anyway, and then rests his phone facedown on his belly so that he doesn’t have to look at it. He’s not sure how long he lies there with the towel pulled over his face before his phone vibrates, chiming with Yunhyeong’s reply.

 

_wahts up?_

 

_I rly need a client dude.  badly_

 

Yunhyeong’s reply comes back swiftly.   _How badly_

 

_Extremely badly? Idk_

 

_u really need to get laid dont you_

 

_Yes_

 

_called it bro.  Do i fuckin know u or what_

 

_Can you help me or not asshole?_

 

_I could ;)_

 

Yunhyeong and Junhwe had never really given up their habit of fooling around together, even after Donghyuk had come into the picture.  It’d become a rare thing nowadays, what with distance and timing and work, but once in awhile Yunhyeong or Donghyuk had invited him to participate, and Junhwe had gladly joined in.

 

Because Donghyuk’s a freak the likes of which come along once in a blue moon, and Yunhyeong has an endless reserve where he’s concerned.  On the infrequent occasions in which Junhwe had played with them, it’d taken all of Junhwe’s energy just to keep up with them.  That’s what he’s hoping for now, for a scene so intense it’ll leave him drained and deeply sated—something, _anything_ to take the edge off his need.

 

Junhwe’s not concerned about Donghyuk’s jealousy.  It’s never been a problem before now, and it’ll stay that way; while Yunhyeong and Donghyuk are exclusive on the whole, they’d made a little occasional space for him just for the sheer novelty of it.  Not to mention that Donghyuk’s something of an exhibitionist, which suits Junhwe’s voyeuristic tendencies very well indeed.

 

_Im sure Dong would be down for it but we are working tmrw, so it would have to wait a bit til were off_

 

Junhwe bites his lip, cursing his own restlessness.  This isn’t the kind of thing that can be organized in a night, but he’s too keyed up, too impatient to wait.

 

 _What if i just came to the club tonight?_  He types back.

 

_Ill ask Dong real quick_

 

Junhwe waits, listless and impatient all at once, phone lying on his stomach again and arms stretched out over his head.  When his phone beeps again, he hesitates briefly before picking it up and reading the message.

 

_U owe me big time. Meet me in my office when u get here_

 

_That would be great.  You spoil me Yoyo_

 

_Dont i fuckin know it_

 

Breathing a deep sigh of exhilarated relief, Junhwe sits up, too restless to lie there any longer now that he’s got a plan to look forward to.  It’s still only late afternoon, so he won’t be leaving anytime soon, but now he’s galvanized with greed and impatience.  His guts aren’t quite ready to keep pace with him, however, and he sits back down as his stomach gives a feeble little twist.

 

Junhwe helps himself to some juice out of the fridge, the cloying sweetness of it making his belly rumble uncomfortably, but he ignores it.  Bobby and Hanbin are lazing on the sofa, Bobby nursing a bottle of water and looking miserable, Hanbin heavy-eyed and limp with tiredness and stifled emotion.

 

He almost doesn’t say anything at all, the words rising to his lips and then dying in his mouth once, twice, three times; he feels strange breaking the heavy, cloying silence.  He’d rather do this on his own, rather go to the Cherry Pit alone so that he doesn’t have to make excuses for himself.  But on the other hand, he also knows it’d be very weird _not_ to extend the invitation, and that’s finally what drives him to speak.

 

“I’m going to the club tonight if you guys wanna come.” He says, and the thickness of the silent atmosphere seems to slow Junhwe’s words down, so that Hanbin and Bobby’s reactions are delayed by a second or two.

 

Bobby stretches, groaning, and makes a softly inquisitive noise, to which Hanbin shakes his head.  “No, I think I’d rather stay home tonight.  You guys should go, though.”

 

Bobby frowns, still narrow-eyed and listless.  “Are you sure?  I could stay home too.”

 

Hanbin nods.  “Yeah.  You go with Junhwe, I just really want a quiet night to myself.  I’m gonna order takeout and watch TV and cry.”

 

“But—” Bobby says unhappily.  “I don’t—”

 

Hanbin sighs, scowling.  “Okay, let’s try this again.  I want you to go with Junhwe and give me the house to myself for an evening, alright?”

 

Bobby chuckles under his breath, his voice still rough and creaky.  “Well, I’m grown up enough to realize when I’m not being asked.”

 

“Just so you know…this is…I have some stuff to talk to Yunhyeong about, and…” Junhwe interjects awkwardly, suddenly trailing off before he overshares, but neither Hanbin nor Bobby are really following along.  “Well, we can at least take the demos in before we leave, anyway.”

 

But he’s slightly relieved that it’ll just be him and Bobby again, without Hanbin under his nose.  He’s safe.

 

Much later that night, after Junhwe and Bobby have regained enough of an appetite to eat some of Hanbin’s trashy Chinese takeout, Junhwe leans into the mirror to apply a painstaking line of eyeliner with an unsteady hand.  The black kohl, usually serving to intensify his black stare, tonight does an excellent job of drawing attention to the deep shadows beneath his eyes.  Never mind; it’ll be dark in the club, and Yunhyeong’s office is dimly lit.  

 

He still doesn’t feel well enough to dress as carefully as he normally would, so he settles for a half-unbuttoned shirt and leather jacket, knowing Yunhyeong will appreciate the deep V of the shirt collar and the little shadow between his pecs—Yunhyeong had often joked in the past that Junhwe had better cleavage than his girlfriend.  It’s about as sexy as he’s going to get tonight, but Yunhyeong will be pleased whether he shows up in a suit or naked; he’s seen both, after all.

 

Bobby’s waiting silent and drowsy on the couch, hands thrust deep into the pockets of his jacket and snapback pulled low over his eyes.  As Junhwe pulls a scarf around his neck, Bobby gets slowly to his feet, kissing Hanbin’s cheek.  

 

Hanbin pats him on the ass as he walks around Hanbin’s legs.  “Be good.” He says, and Bobby grins, batting at Hanbin’s hand affectionately.  Junhwe waves, and then they’re out the door and into the chilly stairwell together.

 

 


	11. Chapter 11: Blow

October had started out pleasantly breezy and crisp, but it’s rapidly blurring into a chilly half-winter, and Bobby huddles into his jacket, his breath streaming from his lips as they walk.  The air is full of the promise of a storm, perhaps, or rain, because the sky overhead is flat and blurred with a smear of orange city light against low-hanging clouds.

 

Junhwe hikes his scarf around his neck too, pulling it higher to warm his ears, zipping his jacket higher to shield his partially bared chest against the penetratingly chill air.  “ _Fuck_ , it’s cold.  We’re taking the train home, okay?” Bobby says, voice muffled into the collar of his jacket.

 

“Yeah.” Junhwe says.  His head is still thudding dully with the last remnants of his hangover, but the fresh air seems to be settling both the headache and his stomach, soothing his strained nerves and sweeping the miasma of pain and nausea away.

 

They walk along in silence, only the sound of their footsteps and the skittering, golden leaves breaking up the sound of the soft breeze stirring the rustling tree branches overhead.  Finally Bobby says, “Hanbin’s birthday is next week.”

 

Junhwe thinks hard, recalling a conversation he’d had with Hanbin several weeks before.  “It’s on Wednesday, right?”

 

“Thursday, yeah.” Bobby says.

 

“What should I get him?” Junhwe says without preamble.

 

“Well,” Bobby says, hesitating, “ _I_ was going to give him…you know…well, I wanted to learn some rope stuff from you for him.”

 

Junhwe nods.  “That sounds like a nice present.  I guess that’d be from both of us, huh?”

 

“Yeah.  If we have time to practice, that is.”

 

“It doesn’t take all that long, honestly, and a few basic ties won’t be that hard for you to learn.  Why don’t you give him a present on Thursday, and you and I will practice until Saturday so you can show off?”

 

“That just means I have to think of an _actual_ present.” Bobby laments, rubbing the bridge of his nose.  “I’m terrible at gifts.”

 

“For Christmas, I once gave Yunhyeong a Nativity scene made entirely out of dildos.” Junhwe says reminiscently, grinning when Bobby bursts into laughter.  “I’m pretty sure he still has it in his office, actually.  You want to talk about bad gifts; I don’t think he talked to me for a week after that one.”

 

“Really, he was that angry?”

 

“No.  There was a ball gag involved.”

 

Bobby cracks up again, and Junhwe laughs along with him.  It’s nice to walk together like this, cheeks pink in the cold, telling rude stories and enjoying the fresh air on their way downtown.  The buildings and streets are beginning to look progressively fancier the further they walk into the heart of the district, redolent of its excessively wealthy residents.

 

“So that brings me back to my last question,” Junhwe says after a moment, “what do you think I should get Hanbin for his birthday?  I feel like Dildo Nativity Scene might not go over so well, but honestly I have no idea.”

 

Bobby shrugs.  “ _You_ could tie him up.” He says, half-jokingly.

 

Junhwe gnaws on his lip, his stomach giving an excited little dip only to freeze with a splash of cold fear.  “I could.” He says carefully, wanting more than anything to believe that Bobby’s joking.

 

“Just out of curiosity, how much _does_ it cost to hire you for Domly services?” Bobby says thoughtfully.

 

“Three hundred bucks an hour, sometimes a little more depending on what I’m doing.”

 

“That’s a lot.” Bobby hums thoughtfully.

 

“I’m good at what I do.” Junhwe shrugs.  

 

Bobby’s curious is relentless, probing, though cautious ever since they’d had their first awkward conversation; even so, he wants to know _everything_ —nonverbal safewords, whipping, bondage, breathplay.  Bobby’s questions and Junhwe’s responses carry them all the way to the club, talking a little more freely than they have before; some tension seems to have been cleared out of the air between them.  Bobby’s deeply, eagerly curious, and his curiosities find satisfying answers in Junhwe.

 

“How about I just buy the cake and you buy your present, and we’ll call it even?”

 

“Yeah, that works.” Bobby nods.

 

“I think Yunhyeong said Chanwoo and Jinhwan are back today.” Junhwe plows forward, eager to divert the question away from his career choices, if only for his own sanity.  He knows he won’t be able to say no if Bobby asks outright, but he’s not in any mood to let the question come up at all if he can help it.  “They’re always worth watching.”

 

“Oh yeah, they’re the suspension guys, right?  I was looking forward to that last week.”

 

“Yup, that’s them.  They do their Suspension Safety class, and then there’s something after that, I can’t remember.” Junhwe says, scowling as he struggles to remember what Yunhyeong had told him, but it’s no good; still slightly hungover, his brain doesn’t seem to want to click into gear, and he gives it up as a bad job.

 

Bobby breaks off in his questioning as they approach the front door, and Junhwe holds it open for him; as before, Donghyuk is manning the door, the planes and angles of his pale pointed face lighting up when he catches sight of them.

 

“God, I’m _so_ happy you’re here, Yunhyeong has been driving me mad all day waiting for you.” Donghyuk sighs with relief.  “And you both look like you’ve been hit by a truck.  Did you get hammered last night?”

 

“Yes.” Junhwe says with a wince.

 

Donghyuk tuts disapprovingly, turning to Bobby.  “And you’re back, too!  It’s Jiwon, right?”

 

Bobby nods, smiling, but it comes off more like a grimace; in the dimly starlit entryway, he has to squint to make out Donghyuk’s face, and it’s worsening the ache in his temples that had only just begun to ease on the way here.

 

“Where's your pretty friend?  I don't remember his name.”

 

“Hanbin decided to stay home, so it’s just us tonight.  Where’s Yunhyeong?” Junhwe says.

 

“Hanbin?  God, even his _name_ is cute.  That’s a shame, I was totally looking forward to seeing him again.  Yunhyeong is upstairs in his office.” Donghyuk says with a suggestive little smirk that Bobby can’t quite read.  “You shouldn’t keep him waiting, he’s been dying to see you all day.  Hey, Jiwon, make Junhwe buy you a drink.  Hair of the Dom that bit you and all.”

 

Donghyuk swats Junhwe on the ass on the way up the stairs, making him yelp and laugh, and Bobby grins too.  “You’ll just let anyone touch your ass, huh?”

 

“Not _anyone_.  Clients don’t get to touch me above the knee.  Friends can touch wherever they want.” Junhwe shoots back unthinkingly, smirking.  

 

Bobby grins wider.  “Anywhere, huh?” He says, but Junhwe’s spared the trouble of a reply to that when they crest the top of the stairs onto the glossy main floor of the club, and Bobby’s distracted again by all the gorgeous displays of flesh and depravity.

 

But Junhwe’s too eager, too anxious to get started, and he finds himself shifting from foot to foot in his excitement.  “Hey, look, Jiwon, I’ve got to—er, I’ve gotta go take care of some stuff with Yunhyeong.  I shouldn’t be too long.  Are you gonna be okay by yourself while I’m gone?”

 

Bobby blinks, taken aback by this unwelcome piece of news, but then his eyes narrow slightly, thinking of Donghyuk’s suggestion.  “Buy me a drink and I’ll think about it.” He says, and Junhwe regards him approvingly, one eyebrow arched in sardonic amusement.   _That’s more like it._

 

So Junhwe buys them both a drink from the bar—though he gives Chaerin a tip to make Bobby’s Bloody Mary extra-spicy for the sheer pleasure of annoying him, which she does with malicious joy and far too many peppers—only to be disappointed when Bobby ignores the extra spice altogether, sipping his drink with placid enjoyment.

 

In truth, his entire mouth is aching, his lips on fire with capsaicin heat, but he’d seen Chaerin grin wickedly as she added more and more Tabasco to the glass.  Bobby can’t let Junhwe see the prank getting to him, however, so he remains stoic, or at least as stoic as he can manage with a sheen of sweat beginning to gather on his forehead.

 

“Not too spicy?” Junhwe prompts him after a minute.

 

“It’s perfect.” Bobby shoots back easily.  Junhwe’s eyes find the sparkling sweat beading in Bobby’s hairline, and he smirks knowingly but doesn’t press the topic.

 

“Okay, dude, I’ve got to go, but I’ll keep it as quick as I can.  You gonna be okay by yourself for a bit?” Junhwe says.

 

“No problem.” Bobby says, grinning.  “I’ll just take it out of your hide later.”

 

Junhwe smirks in response, and then he slips through the crowd and disappears without so much as a backward glance.

 

Bobby finds himself a seat at an empty table, blowing out a breath of pained relief now that Junhwe’s not watching him for a reaction; he’s joined not a moment later by Donghyuk, who pulls out a chair and sits right down as if Bobby had invited him.  Not that Bobby minds; he’d felt distinctly and immediately awkward without Junhwe’s company, so a friendly face isn’t unwelcome.

 

“Oh my god, did Junhwe leave you here all alone?” Donghyuk exclaims.  “What a total dick!”

 

“It’s alright.” Bobby waves it away, taking another sip of his drink and wincing as his tongue and throat burn afresh.  “Like you suggested, I made him buy me a drink.”

 

“Good man.  You might make a civilized son of a bitch out of Junhwe after all.”

 

 

*

 

 

Every step seems less like a shift in body weight and more like the tug of a rope buried deep in his gut, pulling him along rather than being pushed, and he picks his way slowly up the steps with a fast-beating heart, eagerness so hot and heavy in his veins that Junhwe’s buzzing with anticipation.

 

He’s not afraid of Yunhyeong, but he’s smart enough to maintain a certain level of wary respect for Yunhyeong’s abilities, because Yunhyeong had sharpened most of them on Junhwe himself, and he’s not to be underestimated.  And, even if Junhwe were to behave himself, Yunhyeong is going to make him earn everything that’s about to happen.  As it happens, Junhwe isn’t very well behaved at all.

 

He can’t wait.

 

Junhwe taps sharply at the door before letting himself in and closing the door carefully behind him.  Yunhyeong is there, leaning back lazily in his office chair behind the desk, smooth and commanding and powerful, one leg crossed over the other knee and hands folded casually behind his head.

 

He says nothing, his narrowed eyes raking Junhwe’s body, and Junhwe allows himself a moment’s appreciation of Yunhyeong’s wolfish stare.  It’s never failed to have an effect on him, the way the friendly gentleness of Yunhyeong’s face suddenly hardens, focused and intense and fucking _sadistic_.

 

He’d meant it when he told Bobby he no longer missed Yunhyeong, but it’d be impossible to deny that Yunhyeong’s Dominant presence is still enough to set up a responding thrill in Junhwe’s nerves by sheer proximity alone, nevermind when it’s focused on himself.

 

“I’ve been waiting.” Yunhyeong says softly, sitting forward in his chair.  “Come here.”

 

Junhwe walks slowly around the desk.  “So you gonna blow me or what?”

 

“Excuse you.” Yunhyeong says, reaching up and fisting a hand in Junhwe’s collar to jerk him down to Yunhyeong’s level.  Junhwe trips and falls to his knees painfully, still not quite possessed of his balance, and Yunhyeong swiftly snatches up a handful of soft black hair on Junhwe’s crown instead, yanking his head back to make him growl.  

 

At no point does Yunhyeong raise his voice, speaking in the same soft, low tone, but he doesn’t need to shout to make himself understood.  All at once, he releases Junhwe’s hair to stroke fingertips down his cheek, holding Junhwe’s chin between forefinger and thumb possessively.  “If you want me to do you a favor, if you come crawling to me begging me to fuck you, then you’re going to earn it.  I know you’re excited, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.  Do I need to remind you of your manners before we get started?”

 

 

*

 

 

Bobby hadn’t been sure what to make of Donghyuk at first, but to his very great surprise, they get along almost perfectly.  He finds himself liking Donghyuk for his straightforwardness and bright laughter, both disarming and shockingly open.

 

“So how long has Junhwe been living with you guys now?  Three, four months?”

 

“Yeah, thereabouts.” Bobby says, pleasantly loose and calm, his headache soothed by the drink Junhwe had bought him in spite of its vicious spiciness.  “It’s been great, though.  We love him, he’s been awesome to us since he moved in.”

 

“Oh yeah, he used to live with me down in Bucheon, but he stayed there when Yunhyeong and I moved up here to open the club.  We didn’t get to see him much once we moved up here, so it’s nice to have him a little closer again.” Donghyuk takes a sip of his own drink, and then he looks at Bobby sharply over the rim of his glass.  “Okay, I gotta ask ‘cause I’m _so_ curious, but you _have_ to be a Dom.  You just don’t strike me as anything else.”

 

“Yeah,” Bobby says sheepishly, wishing he had another drink just for something to do with his hands.  “I’m—we’re, uh, pretty new at it, though, we’re amateurs.  Not like Junhwe.”

 

“That’s okay, everyone starts somewhere.  I’m a switch myself.” Donghyuk says conversationally, and then seeing Bobby’s little frown of confusion, adds, “Either dominant or submissive, depending on the winds, and the days of the week, and all.”

 

Bobby sits back, folding his hands across his belly comfortably.  “Doesn’t that get confusing?”

 

“Nah.  I guess at first it was, but it’s really as simple as being a mood thing.  Kink is vast, it contains multitudes.  Okay, so,” Donghyuk adds in a businesslike tone, “I know I’m being so nosy, but I gotta ask:  Is Junhwe teaching you the ropes at all, so to speak?”

 

Bobby remembers their painfully awkward conversation from the afternoon before, and shakes his head.  “No, he said…well, what he said was, he’d teach me actual ropes, but when I asked about him teaching me Dom stuff, he kinda shut down on me.  He said he didn’t do that anymore, and I wasn’t about to push the issue.”

 

“Ah.” Donghyuk says, drawing out the syllable as if understanding very well what Bobby’s telling him.  “Okay, yeah, I see the problem.”

 

“What’d I do?” Bobby says uncomfortably.

 

“Nothing.” Donghyuk says.  “I’ll tell you something about Junhwe.  Not because I want you to feel differently about him, though; I just want you to see things from his perspective, and why he doesn’t like to mentor new Doms anymore.  I can’t promise he’ll take you under his wing after I tell you, ‘cause that’s up to him, but I can at least help you understand where it came from.”

 

 

*

 

 

The office is so quiet, so empty of all the noise from the club the floor below, that Junhwe’s harsh breaths seem muted in the silence.

 

Junhwe’s kneeling on the floor in front of Yunhyeong’s armchair, his chin resting on Yunhyeong’s knee, his lips reddened and abraded below the black blindfold Yunhyeong had tied on him just for the fun of it.  Junhwe’s pants are halfway down, tangled and bunched around his thighs; his underwear is still up, but for all the modesty it’s sparing him, he may as well be naked, the shape of his cock straining against the stretch of the fabric.

 

Junhwe laughs raggedly as Yunhyeong cups his jaw again, thumb sweeping over Junhwe’s lower lip.  “If you keep holding out on me like this, we’re going to be here a very long time.” Yunhyeong murmurs.

 

“I can live with that.”

 

“I know _you_ can, but can that pretty little Dom you brought with you handle it?  It’s selfish of you to make him wait on you for this, don’t you think?”

 

“Leave Jiwon out of this.” Junhwe says breathlessly, a shiver of pleasure jittering over his skin at Yunhyeong’s words.

 

“Oh, I seem to have touched a nerve.” Yunhyeong muses.  “Does he have any idea what I’m doing to you up here?  Better yet, do you?”

 

“Whatever it is, I’d love it if you got on with it.”

 

“Get up.” Yunhyeong says calmly.

 

And for all Junhwe’s show of resistance, it’s only that—a show.  Yunhyeong guides him carefully across the office to the sofa, Junhwe shuffling along with jeans hobbling his legs; then Yunhyeong pushes him down onto the couch in a controlled way that neither allows Junhwe any balance nor permits him to fall too heavily.  The leather cushions creak as they take Junhwe’s weight, and then Yunhyeong is kneeling behind him, hips pressed against Junhwe’s ass.  Junhwe can feel him, hard and familiar through the fabric of his slacks.

 

“If you insist on being a bitch, then you should remember that I can deal with you.” Yunhyeong says, reaching forward, one hard hand grabbing Junhwe’s wrist out from under his weight; his other hand scrambles for balance, but Yunhyeong grabs that too, pulling both arms swiftly back behind Junhwe’s body.

 

There’s the click of metal, and then the jarring yank of Junhwe’s arms tugging at the ringing silver chain of a pair of handcuffs.  Not even padded handcuffs, either—metal ones, because Yunhyeong’s fucking savage like that, and he still knows Junhwe’s tolerances so well it makes Junhwe dizzy with amazement.  The metal cuffs aren’t tight, but the edges bite into the skin of his wrists anyway, and Yunhyeong stills him with a hand pressed flat between Junhwe’s shoulders.  “Don’t pull.” He says softly, warningly, and Junhwe obeys.

 

“Ahh, you’re an asshole, Yunhyeong.” Junhwe gasps as Yunhyeong’s hand slides up the inside of his thigh, teasing him, so close to where he wants it already.  Junhwe inexplicably feels a pang of guilt for leaving Bobby alone as Yunhyeong’s fingers reverse their path down his thigh instead, making his cock twitch eagerly against his underwear.

 

“No, I’m a Dom.” Yunhyeong corrects with a throaty little laugh as Junhwe’s hips twitch in frustration.  “There’s a lot more payoff involved, for one.  Secondly, I don’t remember saying you were allowed to call me that.”

 

 

*

 

 

Donghyuk, seeing Bobby leaning forward with interest, takes a sip of his drink before continuing.

 

“So several years ago, Junhwe was doing a lot of mentoring during his phase of exclusive Domming, when it was his sole source of income.  That was where he made a lot of real money, ‘cause he wasn’t just providing a service, right?  He was actually teaching people about safety, cleanliness, that kind of thing.  And let me tell you, Jiwon, he was so _good_ at it.

 

“So Junhwe has a thing that most Doms do, and that’s to Dominate new Doms to help them understand a sub’s perspective.  It’s actually really smart; it teaches empathy and compassion, which are two things that are much more important than beatings, and gives a little perspective.  It helps them understand what subspace looks like, how to handle a sub, where their minds go, and all."

 

“Anyway, most ‘true’ Doms, at least the good ones, develop a style as they get more experienced, and they lose patience for being dominated, just because they don’t really get into something they know they can do better.  Even so, at first, that was Junhwe’s rule.

 

“So he took on this couple, a husband and wife, a really wealthy couple.  The guy, the Dom, refused to submit to Junhwe at all, but he was also putting up loads of money, and Junhwe couldn’t help but compromise in the face of that kind of cash.  I mean, who wouldn’t?  He was raking it in, he was on top of the world.

 

“The guy was a bit of a sadist, but that suited Junhwe just fine, so it didn’t seem to be that big of a deal.  I met them, and they seemed like nice people, but none of us—myself included, but most particularly Junhwe—really had enough sense to realize what kind of people we were really dealing with, or see any of the red flags that were so obvious when we looked back.”

 

Bobby nods, leaning his chin on one hand, eyes wide with interest.  Donghyuk waves a hand impatiently.  “Well, as I said, these two were putting up a shitload of money and booking Junhwe so often he was almost exclusive to them, and everyone was happy.  At least, they _were_.”

 

“What happened then?” Bobby prompts when Donghyuk hesitates, gnawing a lip.

 

 

*

 

 

Yunhyeong’s got Junhwe on his knees on the couch, holding him upright with a hand splayed across his chin, fingers dug firmly into the tender spot just behind the hinge of his jaw to force Junhwe’s mouth open.  His other arm is wrapped tightly around Junhwe’s body, Yunhyeong himself pressed to Junhwe’s back as he jerks him off at a pace he knows will drive Junhwe mad with frustration.

 

But he knows Junhwe so well, and both of them know that’s really what Junhwe’s after—the impatience and teasing add to the satisfaction at the end, once he finally gets there.  Furthermore, this is the perfect arrangement of friendly convenience to take the edge off whatever’s stressing Junhwe out.  Yunhyeong’s nothing if not generous.

 

Junhwe groans, tipping his head back, his mouth hanging open helplessly with the pressure of Yunhyeong’s fingers digging into his jaw.  He isn’t submissive—he’d graduated that phase so long ago, left it so far behind, that he’s much more compliant than truly obedient—but all the same, he enjoys the little hiss of pleasure Yunhyeong gives in response.

 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.  Always coming back to me, huh?  Nobody does it like I do for you, and nobody ever will.  Come on, say it.”

 

“You’ll have to try harder tha- _nnh_ —than that.” Junhwe pants, flinching with surprise when Yunhyeong jerks his cock sharply.

 

“Say it, and I’ll let you come.” Yunhyeong teases, his breath hot in Junhwe’s ear.

 

 

*

 

 

Donghyuk’s expression darkens, and he doesn’t look at Bobby when he says bitterly, “Well, let’s just say it became pretty obvious what was happening when the Dom ended up getting arrested one night.  He’d injured her pretty severely, and we hadn’t recognized the bruises for what they were.  Junhwe had ended up training a textbook abuser.”

 

Bobby blinks, letting out a long breath of surprise.  “Fuck.”

 

“Yeah, it was incredibly fucked up.  Junhwe wasn’t even there.  The really spectacular fucked-up part of it is that the wife, once she was well enough, took Junhwe to court, and tried to sue him for damages.”

 

“Are you shitting me?”

 

“Nope, no shitting here.  It was a civil case, so it was more over money than right and wrong, but it was a crazy battle—as far as the court saw it, yeah the guy was abusive, but Junhwe was a pervert, and the wife’s position was that Junhwe had taught her husband to abuse her, rather than Junhwe having the shitty luck of having taught a bad person.  It was really sad.”

 

“She blamed Junhwe?” Bobby says, shaking his head in disbelief.  He wishes he had another drink; the information is beginning to make his head throb again, so he fishes an ice cube out of his cup and chews on it as Donghyuk continues.

 

“Yup.  So Junhwe had to prove all this stuff, like that everything he’d done had been with full consent and knowledge of the couple, and that kind of thing.  He won the case, but it still ended up nearly bankrupting him, and at any rate it wasn’t a sure thing for a while either.  So yeah,” Donghyuk says, clearing his throat and breaking off to take another sip of his drink, his voice roughening from talking for so long.  “Very long story short, that’s why Junhwe isn’t too keen on taking people under his wing these days.  It’s nothing to do with you at all; I just don't think he ever really forgave himself for not seeing it.  Not just that, either—it was tough for him to get reestablished afterward; he lost several regular clients and was banned from a few clubs after that, even though he wasn’t actually in the wrong.  It wasn’t personal, that’s really just protocol, but it still stung.”

 

Bobby nods, thinking hard and remembering the way Junhwe had closed off on him so swiftly, and he thinks he understands how something like that could affect one’s widespread reputation.  “I had no idea.” He says, staring into his cup blankly.

 

“‘Course not, he doesn’t like to talk about it, even though he’s got nothing to be ashamed of.  He did everything right, but it just goes to show; no good deed goes unpunished.” Donghyuk says, finishing the last of his drink and smacking his lips appreciatively.  

 

“But listen,” he adds, more confidentially, leaning forward to look Bobby in the eyes.  “I’ve known Junhwe for years, and I’ve learned my way around creeps and fucked up people like the ones that hurt him.  After awhile, it gets to be so easy to spot them that it makes me sick sometimes.  But Junhwe is the real deal, Jiwon, he’s one of the best Doms I’ve ever met, and if you’re serious about it, he’s worth pursuing.  Just keep in mind that _if_ you manage to convince him, he’s going to want something from you before you begin.”

 

 

*

 

 

Junhwe laughs, his breaths coming in short huffs now, the heat of orgasm rising ruthlessly in his belly and urged on by the short strokes of Yunhyeong’s hand.  He twitches, but Yunhyeong slows his strokes to a torturous pace, and Junhwe’s handcuffs clatter as his body stiffens with greedy urgency.

 

“Come _on_.” He growls.

 

“Then say it.”

 

Junhwe grunts his displeasure, hips lurching forward again, and then he screws up his face irritably.  “ _Fine._  Master, please let me come.”

 

“Oooh.  That gave me goosebumps.”  Yunhyeong murmurs.  “Say it again.”

 

 

*

 

 

“My submission.” Bobby says, frowning, and Donghyuk nods.  Bobby has a sudden vision of himself limp and sated, tangled up in ropes with Junhwe looming over him.  Heat suddenly blooms in his cheeks, though of course it’s invisible in the low light.

 

“You sound as if that bothers you.”

 

“No.” Bobby says quickly, shaking his head, confused.  “I dunno.  I’m not _bothered_ , just…” He mouths helplessly, apparently unable to articulate what exactly he is, and then goes silent.

 

“Nervous?” Donghyuk finishes for him.

 

“I guess.” Bobby shrugs slightly, scooping another ice cube out of his cup, pursing his lips thoughtfully as he sucks on it.  “I just don’t know what to expect.  I’ve only seen anything like that once, and it was Junhwe doing it to Hanbin.”

 

Donghyuk gives a tiny, lewd groan of pleasure at the mention of Hanbin.  “Oh god, that was the _best fucking thing_.” He hums.  “I _still_ think about that sometimes.”

 

Bobby chuckles.  “Me too.”

 

“Well, that should tell you just how good Junhwe is.  So you’ve got nothing to worry about, right?”

 

“No…I suppose not.” Bobby nods, distracted, his mind full of ropes again.  

 

 

*

 

“Not yet,” Yunhyeong whispers, “not yet, Junhwe, hold out just a little longer for me—”

 

Junhwe releases a sharp breath, chest heaving as he struggles to obey, body quivering all over with desperation.  It’s not often he’s reduced to utter speechlessness, but he is now, panting and squirming.  He squeezes his eyes shut behind the blindfold, holding himself back with the precision and willpower of an expert.  

 

Junhwe’s good at playacting submissive, but Yunhyeong’s gotten to him somehow.  He’s still lucid, but there’s another softer, darker, more obedient part falling like a blurry shadow over his mind, and he grits his teeth against it, pinching his own hip viciously to ground himself out.

 

“This is much too easy for you.” Yunhyeong growls.

 

“You trained me.  You should know how good I am at it.”

 

“Then prove it to me. _Come_.”

 

 

*

 

 

“Speaking of, where is Junhwe?  I thought he’d be back by now.” Bobby says, looking around the club curiously as if expecting to see him emerging from a shadow.

 

“Oh, I don’t know.  But if I know those two, it probably got out of hand and I’m going to have to go up there and untangle them.”

 

Bobby had been under the impression that Junhwe had been talking business with Yunhyeong, that they’d been hashing out something professional, but Donghyuk’s response doesn’t seem to fit, and Bobby frowns back at him.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

Donghyuk’s smile falls a little.  “You really don’t know?” He says, gnawing on his lip, and Bobby shakes his head.  “Uhh, _boy_.  Okay, how do I explain this?”

 

“What the hell could he possibly be doing that would surprise me at this point?” Bobby wonders aloud, slurping another ice cube out of his cup and thinking of business, of handcuffs, even going so far as to imagine Junhwe practicing a new rope tie on Yunhyeong—

 

“They’re fucking.”

 

Bobby instantly gags on his ice cube, coughing it abruptly into his hand.  “Excuse me?” He chokes out, his face burning.  Well, that answers two questions at once—because that very definitely _did_ surprise him.

 

“They’re _fucking_.” He repeats distinctly, the smile on his face making it evident that he’s enjoying Bobby’s shock.  Bobby sits up straight again, wiping his mouth, and then knocks his cup over clumsily, spilling ice-melt and watery tomato juice across the surface of the table.

 

“I don’t—I don’t get it.  I thought Yunhyeong was your boyfriend.” Bobby says carefully, feeling winded, as if Donghyuk had thrown him in wrestling.  He must’ve missed something somewhere, because nothing is adding up in his head, and he’s disconcerted.

 

“Husband, actually, but yeah, he is.” Donghyuk chuckles, holding up his left hand to show a narrow wedding band glinting in the dim light.  Bobby blinks, taken aback yet again.

 

He doesn’t even know what to say.  He leans back in his chair, puffing out his cheeks, his head beginning to ache more insistently.  “But—how does that _work_?  I mean—I just don’t _get_ it.  If you’re married, then…”

 

“Jiwon, _relax_.” Donghyuk says calmly, smiling.  “It’s just the way things work for us.  Yunhyeong and I have known Junhwe for years, and we love him, and he’s a fantastic Dom.  On the whole, we don’t make a habit of bringing other people into our relationship, but Junhwe is an exception.  And, well, he asked Yunhyeong for a favor, and we agreed he could help.”

 

“Help?” Bobby repeats weakly.

 

“Junhwe asked Yunhyeong for a new client, but we didn’t have anyone lined up, so I said Yunhyeong could do whatever he liked.”

 

Bobby passes a hand over his eyes, contemplating this new revelation with a sort of dismayed exhilaration, not knowing what to do with it; he looks at Donghyuk helplessly, but his attention is wandering up the stairs to where, at this very moment, Junhwe is leaning back on the couch with sore wrists lying limp in his lap, Yunhyeong pulling his blindfold off to kiss him.

 

Bobby’s mental picture is rather removed from what’s actually happening, lacking most of the details save what Donghyuk had said; but shockingly, what’s real about it is the little lance of arousal that plunges through his belly as the idea plays out in his head.

 

“Don’t you get jealous?” Bobby says, trying to distract himself.

 

“Sure, sometimes.  But when that happens, we fix it.  Usually I don’t get jealous, though, ‘cause we really only do this with Junhwe.  I trust Yunhyeong with the boundaries we set for each other, and I know he won’t go past them even if I’m not there to supervise.  Junhwe isn’t our lover or a boyfriend, and Yunhyeong is mine at the end of the day.” Donghyuk says happily.

 

“How d’you get to be that secure in someone?  I love Hanbin, but I don’t know if I could handle it.” Bobby says in disbelief.

 

Donghyuk shrugs.  “I don’t exactly understand it myself.  It’s not for everyone, so there's nothing _wrong_ with not being able to handle it, but as for me…I love Yunhyeong, but…it’s _just_ sex, you know?”

 

Bobby nods, still baffled and strangely shaken up by this new insight into Junhwe’s life, and says nothing.  He thinks back to what Donghyuk had said a little earlier:  Junhwe had wanted a new client, but he’d sought out Yunhyeong…and right now they’re having sex in Yunhyeong’s office, while Bobby stares blankly back at Yunhyeong’s smiling, undeceived husband.  His head gives a ferocious throb.

 

_If he’d asked me…_

 

Bobby gnaws the inside of his cheek, thinking of Hanbin, of Junhwe, of subspace and ropes and dominance.  The maelstrom of thoughts swirling in his head seems to suddenly come together in a rhythm, and an idea suggests itself to Bobby in that insidious way ideas sometimes seem to have, slipping in between the cracks of a greater idea only to shatter the original to make room for itself.

 

Junhwe wants a client.  And Bobby wants Junhwe’s knowledge.

 

And for that, they’re going to need—

 

 

*

 

 

Junhwe returns alone not long after Bobby and Donghyuk’s conversation, looking disheveled and tired but happy.  He suggests that they stay for the demonstration, but Bobby’s feeling crowded and uncomfortable in the club with all the new information weighing heavily on his shoulders, and when he indicates he’d like to leave, Junhwe follows him out the door unresistingly.

 

Donghyuk kisses Junhwe on the cheek as they leave, and Bobby watches everything closely, as if trying to figure it all out just by observation.  “Don’t think too hard about things.” Donghyuk murmurs, patting Bobby on the face affectionately, and Bobby nods, smiling vaguely in response.

 

“What are you staring at?” Junhwe says.  He doesn’t sound angry; he seems genuinely curious, with a little laugh in his throat, and Bobby pulls his coat more tightly around his neck as the bitter air strikes at them.

 

Bobby doesn’t know what to say.  His eyes rake Junhwe’s face, but the streetlights wash out any of the flush that might’ve remained in Junhwe’s cheeks, and maybe he looks a little happier, a little more serene than before, but Bobby can’t divine anything more from his expression than that.  “I dunno.” He says blankly.  “Just…”

 

“You, uh, alright?” Junhwe ventures when Bobby doesn’t elaborate.

 

“Yeah.  Yeah, I’m fine.” Bobby says, with an unconvincing stab at airiness.  Junhwe glances at him sidelong, but doesn’t pursue the conversation, and they walk along together, the silence oddly but deeply strained.  They pass the orange-lit entryway to a train station, and then another further on, but so tense is the quiet between them and so focused on one another are they, that neither of them notice.

 

“Donghyuk said something, didn’t he?” Junhwe says finally.

 

“He said a lot of things.” Bobby nods without looking at Junhwe, but he can feel Junhwe’s sharp gaze on his face.

 

“What’d he tell you?”

 

“Pretty much everything, I guess.”

 

“That man has the flappiest lips I’ve ever met, I swear.” Junhwe sighs.  Bobby laughs at that, and the tension eases a little.  “Okay, so…you seem bothered.”

 

“You don’t have to answer for anything.” Bobby says calmly, and he realizes as he says it that he _means_ it.  “I’m really not bothered by that thing that happened to you.  Donghyuk just told me why you don’t mentor new Doms, and I don’t blame you.  Only…”

 

Bobby hesitates, and Junhwe knows why.  “Only, the Yunhyeong _thing_ , right?”

 

“Yeah, I guess I just don’t get that.”

 

“I don’t know if I can explain it to you.” Junhwe says unhelpfully, shrugging.

 

“No, I mean,” Bobby says, thinking hard and searching out the words, wishing he were drunk again, if only to ease the tension and nerves coursing through his body.  “I mean, you wanted a client, right?  But you asked Yunhyeong.”

 

“Yes.” Junhwe says, mystified.

 

“But…I already told you I would be.  I asked.” Bobby mutters.

 

Junhwe’s quiet for a moment, hands jammed deep in the pockets of his jacket.  “I wanted a sub.  And I don’t usually teach these days.” He says, with the air of someone hoping to be talked into something.

 

“I know, and I get why.” Bobby nods.  “I just—this is really important to me, and I want to do it right for Hanbin.  And I want to learn from _you_.”

 

Junhwe doesn’t look at him, thinking, his jaw set firmly, and then he says, “Jiwon, are you absolutely serious about this?”

 

“Yes.” Bobby says without hesitation.

 

“You’re sure.”

 

“Completely.”

 

“Does Hanbin know you’re asking me?”

 

“Not yet.”

 

And maybe it’s that Junhwe’s a little bit drunk still, or perhaps it’s the hangover still muddling his thoughts around.  Maybe it’s the streetlight that washes all the color from Bobby’s hair, showing his striking features in stark relief, all flat orange and deep black.  And maybe it’s the languid, soft warmth of the aftermath of his session with Yunhyeong making him feel so agreeable.  

 

Maybe it’s all of these things and more.  But as Junhwe looks at Bobby, thinking hard, Bobby looks back at him stubbornly, and Junhwe’s arguments finally run out, or exhaust themselves, or he just gives up.

 

“Donghyuk must've told you what I require of all my new Dominants, then.”

 

“He did.”

 

“So let me ask you right up front.  Are you sure enough about this to submit to me?”

 

And for the first time, Bobby hesitates, swallows, mouth suddenly dry.  He looks up at Junhwe, meeting his black, black gaze in the glare of the streetlight.

 

“Yes.”

 


	12. Chapter 12: Sweet

As promised, Junhwe’s lessons to Bobby begin on Wednesday afternoon.

 

Bobby had cautiously suggested the idea to Hanbin while they lay in bed on Tuesday night, after Hanbin had come home late again and Junhwe had ordered some takeout to share between the three of them.

 

Hanbin had collapsed into bed, exhausted and stuffed full of delicious food, and feeling much too lazy and tired to be in any particular mood for sex.  Bobby had been happy—in a way—for that part, at least; Hanbin can be persuaded to do just about anything in the throes of passion, but he’s rather certain, too, that Hanbin would prefer to be lucid for such a discussion.

 

But his nerves and caution had found themselves largely baseless in Hanbin’s remarkably enthusiastic reaction.

 

Because truth be told, if Bobby hadn’t brought it up on his own, Hanbin hadn’t been entirely sure how much longer he could’ve resisted asking Bobby, or outright approaching Junhwe himself. Hanbin’s never been one to let shyness stand in the way of what he wants, and he wants this too much.  

 

So both Bobby and Hanbin sigh with secret relief at the other’s keen response, and fall asleep warm and close and smiling, as if in reassurance.

 

And so the lessons, now blessed by Hanbin, had begun.

 

Bobby stands awkwardly by the doorway, and Junhwe stands across from him, a curious, contemplative expression on his face and a length of rope coiled heavy and limp around his shoulder; Bobby sizes Junhwe up expressionlessly in turn, a brittle tension making itself known in the confines of Junhwe’s small, tidy bedroom.

 

“Ready?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“I’ll tie the knots on you, and then you’ll replicate them on me.  Think you can do that?”

 

“Yeah.” Bobby nods.

 

“Then hold out your hands, wrists together.” Junhwe says.  Bobby offers his hands readily, and the curve of Junhwe’s smile seems to pierce him, transfixing him where he stands.  What was it Junhwe had said about bondage?   _Bondage is my favorite, my specialty.  I can tie anyone up, anywhere, with anything, and I’m never happier than that…_

 

But he holds himself as still as he can, breathless with excitement.  Junhwe lets the coil of rope slough off his shoulder onto the floor.  “What I’m going to teach you right now is called the Two-Column Weave.  It’s one of my favorites, because it’s so pretty.  It’s also very secure, but it’s easy to release too.”

 

Junhwe shakes out the rope, finding the middle and carefully wrapping the rope around Bobby’s wrists.  His fingertips are warm, soft and gentle where they brush against Bobby’s skin with each loop, each twist, the rope cool and smooth and unrelenting in contrast.  Something about the tight hold makes each sweep of Junhwe’s hand against Bobby’s forearms feel like a jolt from a battery, coursing down his spine like little shocks of cold.

 

Junhwe explains each step carefully, showing Bobby exactly how tight to make the ties, and Bobby listens eagerly as the rope climbs his forearms, obscuring all but the tiniest flashes of skin between the loops of the rope.

 

Junhwe finishes the tie quickly, once Bobby had given a nod to show he understood, and then with one short jerk of the loose ends, the whole thing falls apart and away from Bobby’s wrists with amazing swiftness.  Bobby blinks, surprised, as Junhwe tugs the last loop out of the rope with the quick swipe of a hand.

 

“Think you’ve got that?”

 

“I think so, yeah.” Bobby says, rubbing his wrists.  He’d just been getting comfortable in the hold of the rope when it’d fallen away. Somehow, the sudden freedom is jarring to his senses, like a blow to the head.

 

“Alright, you try now.” Junhwe says, handing Bobby the looped rope before holding his own wrists out side by side.

 

It feels clumsy, awkward now that Junhwe’s the one watching him, but Bobby remembers what he’d seen well enough.  He’s surprised not so much at how easy the tie really is, but at the pleasurable feeling of each loop slipping through the next, of the rope gliding sleekly through his fingers, the doubled lines rising swiftly up Junhwe’s forearms.  He finishes with a little bow at the top, pulling it tight, and Junhwe wiggles his fingers, smiling approvingly.

 

“Hey, you’re pretty good.” He says.  “That was easy, right?  Now untie me, and I’ll show you another one.  We should have time for you to practice a more complex one today, and then we’ll call it quits.”

 

“Right.” Bobby nods, his face suddenly warming for no reason at all.  He’s strangely flustered, teeth sunk in his lower lip thoughtfully, holding his breath once or twice; though he doesn’t notice any of these things, his eyes fixed on the rope in front of him.

 

Bobby takes the trailing end of the rope in one hand, hesitating.  Then he looks up into Junhwe’s eyes, and finally, _finally_ , pulls the knot free.

 

Junhwe sees it in the overbright glitter of Bobby’s gaze, in his reluctance and the heat of his reddening cheeks.  It isn’t hard to understand, though Junhwe has a shrewd idea that Bobby has no idea what to make of it, either.  What disturbs him about it, more than Bobby’s hesitation, is that Junhwe _likes_ the fixed, profoundly focused look on Bobby’s face.

 

Bobby doesn’t _want_ to untie him.

 

Junhwe flexes his fingers, slipping his wrists free of the final loop with a weird, serpentine ease that Bobby doesn’t initially register.  “You ready to try the next one?”

 

Bobby seems to come to his senses at the sound of Junhwe’s voice, his head snapping up.  “Oh, uh, yeah.  What’s this one called?”

 

“Karada harness.” Junhwe says, shaking out the rope again.  “It’s the simplest version of the one I did on Hanbin last time.”

 

Junhwe loops the rope around the back of Bobby’s neck and begins talking, and Bobby does his best to keep up with everything. This one seems far more complex, especially since Bobby’s feeling so muddled, though he couldn’t have explained why.

 

“Spread your feet a little for me.” Junhwe says, tapping Bobby’s ankle, and Bobby does at once.  “You’ll thread the rope between the legs like this, and then back up through the neck loop you tied to begin with.  Got that?” He explains calmly, pulling the rope up snugly to rest against Bobby’s crotch and settle in the crack of his ass over his jeans.

 

The knots Junhwe had tied in front of his body before are spaced perfectly, just as he’d explained to Bobby, to rest up against the base of his cock (and, were his jeans not in the way, against his entrance as well), which gives a little sudden throb of eagerness, stirring awake at the pressure.  Bobby gasps, surprised, and then blushes again with embarrassment; but Junhwe says nothing, and Bobby grits his teeth, willing his blood to stop surging so hard.

 

But he gets it now.  He understands how amazing this must feel for Hanbin, the smooth rub of the rope against sensitive areas, the tight, reassuring safety of such a delicate hold.  He might not understand subspace, but he has a new appreciation for Junhwe’s abilities quite apart from the aesthetic appeal of watching Junhwe tie Hanbin up.

 

But whatever this is, whatever quality and feeling this situation is dredging up for him, it isn’t sexual—not entirely.  The response of his dick in his pants is purely physiological, a reaction to the rope rather than atmosphere.  There’s something deeper, more eager and intoxicating, a _need_.

 

It isn’t quite Dominance, either.  Junhwe talks Bobby through each step in a calm, professional tone that keeps Bobby’s anxiety at bay, a steady flow of words that ensures Bobby never loses track of him.  No surprises, except the shock of Bobby’s own body betraying him like this.

 

No, this is pure wild hunger, a voracious curiosity driving them now, an eagerness to explore, to hunt, to push the boundaries of the mind through manipulation of the body.  Junhwe walks around Bobby to knot the very long, loose ends of the rope around his waist in a drooping bow.

 

Curiosity, for sure, but perhaps there _is_ something to the sexual aspect too, when Bobby looks up into Junhwe’s face.  Junhwe’s expression is intense, bright-eyed and half-lidded, his lips slightly parted and his face flushed.  He looks distinctly, deliciously, postorgasmic.  Bobby’s stomach gives a little backflip at the sight, and the rope seems to tighten slightly.

 

But then Junhwe says, “Now you practice on me.  Use the last part of the rope for the wrist binding.”

 

So Bobby pulls at the tie on his midsection, the whole ensemble loosening all at once; he steps out of the coils as they fall, tugging and prying the hard knots out of the rope until it’s one long length again and lying in a messy tangle on the floor.

 

And then Bobby gladly does as he’d been told, looping the rope loosely around Junhwe’s neck and tying the knots as he’d been shown, sinking more and more into a sense of confidence and self-possession as he continues.  There’s a sort of soft, deep pleasure in this, in the rhythm of knots and the twist and creak of fibers, in the tug of tight black rope sunk into skin.  He can’t _wait_ to try this on Hanbin, smiling to himself giddily as he works.

 

And Junhwe, well—he allows himself to enjoy it, too.

 

 

*

 

 

“A date, huh?” Hanbin says teasingly, perching on the edge of the bed, arching one shapely eyebrow.  “Is that why it was so important I come home early?”

 

“ _Important_ is a relative term.” Bobby says, grinning.  “Anyway, I couldn’t think of what to get you, so I thought I’d take you out for the afternoon.  It was nice that you got to come home early today after being so busy lately.”

 

As he talks, he walks closer to the bed until he’s leaning against the edge of the mattress between Hanbin’s knees, planting his hands to either side of Hanbin’s hips.

 

“I got Jisoo to cover for me for the afternoon.  I’m not above using a little blackmail for that, either; I mean, I _did_ handle her accounts last week while she was out, so I wasn’t about to skip out on the opportunity to collect on the favor she owed me.”

 

“That’s a little dirty.” Bobby says with a smirk, tilting his head to kiss Hanbin slowly.

 

“You know it.” Hanbin murmurs against Bobby’s lips, and then Bobby straightens up, tapping Hanbin’s chin with a fingertip before returning to the closet to select a hoodie from the pile on the floor beneath a mass of clattering, empty hangers.  “Jiwon, it’s warm outside.  You won’t need a hoodie.”

 

“You say that, but I know how this works.  I’m going to bring one, and you’re going to go like that,” Bobby nods toward Hanbin’s collared shirt, open at the neck and shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows attractively, “and then you’re going to get cold and complain, and then I’m gonna give you my sweatshirt.” He says, and then adds after a moment, “Well, if it gives me a chance to be chivalrous, maybe you’ll fall for me.”

 

“No doubt.  I’m good at falling, anyway.”

 

“You’re not wrong.  Usually on your ass.” Bobby says, picking up a white sweatshirt and giving it a sniff to determine its suitability for wearing.  Hanbin pulls a face, but doesn’t object. Apparently it passes whatever criteria Bobby’s set for it, because he tosses it over his shoulder with satisfaction.  “And what a nice ass it is, too.”

 

“Once again, you know it.” Hanbin says generously.

 

“And tonight, that ass is mine.” Bobby hums, returning to his place between Hanbin’s knees; Hanbin resists him halfheartedly with hands pressed flat against Bobby’s chest as Bobby crawls over the top of him.  “I feel like I haven’t seen you for weeks.  I missed you.”

 

“I know, I’m sorry.” Hanbin murmurs as Bobby kisses him softly.  “It’s my fault, really.  I just needed time to cool off, and it cost me a bit of time with you.  But you got to hang out with Junhwe, right?”

 

“Oh sure, that was fine and all,” Bobby agrees, nodding, “but _he’s_ not my boyfriend.”

 

“You sure?”

 

“Damn sure.” Bobby says, kissing Hanbin again and again, until his lips find Hanbin’s cheek instead, and then Hanbin’s jaw, chin, neck.

 

“I thought you were taking me out.” Hanbin says distractedly, his voice thickening a little as his blood begins to heat up.

 

“Oh, I am.” Bobby says pleasantly, smiling as he nibbles at Hanbin’s ear teasingly.  “And we’re gonna have a nice day out, or else.  And after that, I’m gonna bring you back here and tie your ass up.  I know some good ones now.”

 

“Oh yeah?” Hanbin says, his breath now coming a little more rapidly.  “On second thought, why don’t we just stay in all afternoon?”

 

“Time to go.” Bobby gets up, sliding off the bed to land on his feet lightly, and Hanbin scowls, poking out a lower lip as Bobby pulls him up into a sitting position too.  

 

“So I take it your lessons are going well with Junhwe.” Hanbin adds, just a touch grumpily as he smoothes the wrinkles out of the front of his shirt.

 

“Yeah.” Bobby says casually.  “He taught me a couple of nice ones.”

 

“Why haven’t you told me about them?”

 

“‘Cause I only learned them yesterday, and I was going to surprise you for your birthday.” Bobby grins.  “Don’t worry.  They’ll be fun.”

 

“Oh, I’m not worried.” Hanbin says.  “But I hate it when you tease me.”

 

“Oh, I’m _so_ sorry.” Bobby croons mockingly, pulling his hoodie over his head.  “C’mon, let’s go, babe.  It’s gonna get dark early, so I want to enjoy the last of the afternoon.”

 

On the way out the door, Bobby collects his guitar case from where it’d been propped in a corner, a big, soft-sided bag that zips up in the shape of his acoustic.  Hanbin regards him with an arched eyebrow, surprised.  “You’re bringing your guitar?”

 

“What guitar?” Bobby grins.  “This is a picnic basket.” Hanbin rolls his eyes and gives Bobby a playful little push, and Bobby retaliates with a tickle that makes Hanbin squeal and clamp his arms to his sides.

 

A crystalline, brilliantly sunny day greets them as they emerge from the apartment foyer into the clear afternoon, and Hanbin takes a deep breath of relief and pleasure.  It feels like ages since he’d enjoyed fresh air, even though he’d walked to work only that morning; there’s a different quality to the afternoon now, one without any pressure, any deadlines.  All he has to do is enjoy.  

 

He closes his eyes for a moment, enjoying the warmth of the sun on his cheeks, and then Bobby takes his hand.

 

They walk along in silence, and when Hanbin breaks the quiet to ask, “Jiwon, where are we going?” But Bobby merely grins and tips him a wink, squeezing Hanbin’s hand before leading him down the steps into the dimly-lit train station.

 

Even down here, where the harsh fluorescent lighting flattens all the life out of the glum expressions of the people standing or milling about waiting for the train, Bobby still sees the rosy light in Hanbin’s face when he grins with excitement, his skin so perfectly golden and smooth, his lips so impossibly pink.  It’s all he can do not to kiss him right there and then.  He settles for squeezing Hanbin’s hand again, and Hanbin smiles back at him.

 

Bobby really is the luckiest man he knows.

 

And he tells Hanbin as much in an undertone, partly because it’s true and partly because it makes Hanbin blush and giggle and push at him sheepishly, embarrassed and pleased.  Hanbin never really gets over being so desired even after all this time, and Bobby never gets over Hanbin’s reaction.

 

The rail car lurches beneath them and then emerges from the dimly-lit tunnel into the sunlight as they pick up speed, making all the inhabitants squint and shield their eyes painfully at the sudden brightness, but Hanbin merely turns to look out the window curiously.  It’s a route Hanbin’s ridden many times before, but since he’s aware Bobby’s planned a surprise, he’s alert for clues as to what the surprise might be.

 

But Bobby, still saying nothing, leads him off the train at a tiny station just past the river that Hanbin’s never been to—hardly even noticed before—and buys them both a fantastically delicious-smelling waffle from the station vendor.

 

Hanbin hums with delight, munching on his waffle as they emerge from the train station back into the bright light, still holding Bobby’s hand.  Bobby leads them up and over a low residential hill, past grubby convenience stores and tiny, empty storefronts toward the river.

 

“Where are we going?” Hanbin asks again.

 

“To the moon, my dear.” Bobby says, with as much airiness as he can muster with a mouth full of waffle.  Hanbin rolls his eyes again.

 

 _The moon_ is, in fact, a little park area right on the edge of the Han River.  It’s still warm, and still green from the occasional heavy autumn rains that sweep through the valley, the grass satiny and verdant in the bright sun.

 

The park itself is busy, but not crowded, full of families eager to take advantage of this last glorious twinkling of summer, of the shimmering flakes of white light thrown back by the sparkling river.  Children wade ankle-deep in the cold, bright water, their parents watching lazily from the hillside; and while the day is warm, there’s a fresh crispness to the air that promises a cool night.

 

Bobby makes for a comfortable-looking spot on the low hill, leading Hanbin by the hand and stepping high through the tussocky, sweet-smelling grass.  Hanbin follows, inhaling deep lungfuls of the fresh air, a sense of deep, quiet peace stealing over him almost like a heavy drowsiness.

 

Bobby sits cross-legged in the grass, and Hanbin follows, lying down in the softness next to Bobby and itching his neck where the longer blades tickle his skin.  In spite of how busy the park is and its proximity to the water, it’s interestingly quiet, almost muted; only the sounds of children shouting and the _whoosh_ of the trains occasionally reach them.

 

Bobby unzips his case and pulls the guitar out, sitting firmly on the noisy nylon case to keep it from blowing away in the occasional breeze that lifts off the surface of the river and stirs Hanbin’s hair across his forehead.

 

Hanbin squints in the bright sun, but he makes no effort to cover his eyes; he merely hums contentedly, moving until he’s lying perpendicular to Bobby’s legs to rest his head on Bobby’s shins, far enough down that Bobby won’t smack him in the face while playing as he balances his guitar in his lap.  This has the added benefit of turning his eyes slightly away from the sun, and he folds his hands over his belly comfortably while Bobby gets situated.

 

Bobby idly picks out a few notes on his guitar, and Hanbin mumbles, “You’re not gonna sing Happy Birthday to me, I hope.”

 

“Well, I wasn’t, but now that you bring it up…” Bobby says cheekily, plucking out the tune so slowly that Hanbin groans in mock-annoyance; then, without the slightest pause, he begins to play in earnest.

 

At first he simply strums a few familiar songs, radio songs or ones he’s produced recently with Yang, each one bleeding seamlessly into the next.  Hanbin sings along to the ones he knows, faltering into silence when Bobby grins down at him and changes songs with a flick of his wrist, then beginning to hum again as he picks up the rhythm.

 

And then, grinning sheepishly, Bobby begins to play a song he’d written for Hanbin just before they’d begun dating in earnest, the sound of a love-sodden, self-indulgent teenager’s romance. It makes Hanbin’s heart swell all the same as Bobby sings along with him, his raw, lilting voice all sandpaper and velvet.  Bobby had written it for the sole purpose of wooing Hanbin early on in their relationship, in the hopes that Hanbin would fall for him as hard as Bobby had for Hanbin.

 

It had worked.  Hanbin remembers it well; he’d lunged over Bobby’s guitar to kiss him right then and there (and missed, painfully).

 

And here they are, six—seven? eight?  Hanbin counts on his fingers, thinking hard—years later; still in love, still as impossibly fond of one another as they had been the first day.  Admittedly they’re comfortable, too, and sometimes bored or frustrated, but Hanbin has no concept of what his life would or could have been like without Bobby.

 

It hasn’t always been easy or even fun, but because of those things—rather than in spite of them—it’s perfect.   _They’re_ perfect.

 

Bobby finishes with a little strum of the strings, grinning red-faced down at Hanbin, almost embarrassed; Hanbin smiles back, feeling his own face warm with pleasure in turn.

 

“Been awhile since I heard that.” Hanbin sighs.

 

“Me too.  Almost forgot the words.”

 

“Did you really write that song for me all that time ago, or did you write it for Lisa and pass it off as mine?” Hanbin teases.

 

“No, I wrote her a different song.” Bobby smiles wider, cheeky, his eyes thinning to half-moons.

 

“Ripping off _Rocket_ doesn’t count, Jiwon.”

 

“Oh, man, I remember that.  I didn’t know you could dance like that…”

 

“I was drunk.”

 

“I could’ve imagined it.” Bobby concedes lazily.  Hanbin rubs a blade of grass between his fingertips, so content it’d be easy to drift off to sleep right here on Bobby’s lap.  He closes his eyes, sighing deeply, and Bobby shifts until Hanbin’s head is lying on his thighs instead.  He strokes Hanbin’s hair, leaning back on the other hand.

 

“We should get married.”

 

Hanbin’s eyes snap open in surprise, and he goes very still, slightly tense.  “Yeah?” He says after a pause.

 

“Yeah.” Bobby says, nodding, glancing down at Hanbin before looking back out to the river, almost shy.  “Someday, anyway.”

 

“Aren’t we pretty much married already?”

 

“Not insofar as we’re still boyfriends.” Bobby says, and Hanbin nods in agreement.  “But yeah, in every other aspect we are.”

 

“Not that I’m objecting to the idea, Jiwon, but where’d this come from?  You’ve just never expressed an interest in it before.”

 

“Dunno.” Bobby says, thinking of Donghyuk.  He isn’t sure why he doesn’t tell Hanbin about it.  Perhaps it’s the conversation he’d had with Donghyuk himself last Saturday about Junhwe, about Yunhyeong, about the strange arrangement of their marriage that still had Bobby lying awake in bed, mulling over it in the dark with Hanbin sleeping comfortably against his back.  “Still, I think a ring would be nice.” Bobby says, just a touch defensively.

 

“We could even go back to Virginia someday, or just have a church ceremony.  If we had it here, it wouldn’t be legal, but it could still be _official_ , I guess.” Hanbin muses.  “Rings are expensive, though.”

 

“It doesn’t have to _be_ an expensive ring.” Bobby says, nettled now.  “I just—liked the idea.”

 

The frustration in Bobby’s tone is wildly apparent to Hanbin, but he can’t decide where it’s coming from. Bobby’s not usually so touchy about such things. “No, I think it’s a great idea, Jiwon. Really.  But we’re gonna have to fight over who gets to propose, right?”

 

Bobby looks at Hanbin as if he’s crazy.  “Well, I’m going to propose to you.  I thought that was obvious.”

 

“Not if I propose to you first.” Hanbin teases, poking Bobby’s belly.

 

“What if I say no?” Bobby shoots back.

 

“You wouldn’t.  But if you did, I’d probably die in the closet somewhere ‘cause I never learned to feed myself.  Do you really want that on your conscience?”

 

“Oh please.  I have no soul.” Bobby says.

 

 

*

 

 

At the same moment halfway across Seoul, Junhwe is watching the smiling cashier behind the counter wrap a neat little package in silver paper.

 

His stomach gives a little kick of discomfort as he swipes his credit card, his eyes tracking every swift motion of her hands as she finishes with a quick, tidy fold of the paper and a little strip of tape.

 

He hadn’t intended to buy Hanbin anything for his birthday except the cake, like he and Bobby had agreed on.  But like most other things, intentions often last right up until contact with the real world, and when the sparkle of it had caught his eye in the display case on his way to pick up the cake he’d ordered the day before, he’d made a detour.

 

It hadn’t been expensive, either, and Junhwe had snapped it up without thinking twice, positively glowing with pride and excitement.  Hanbin’s certain to love it.

 

Junhwe’s always been good at giving gifts.  Being well-used to observing people with limited means of communication, that lends itself to a certain vigilance, a certain finely-honed ability to read people on a level deeper than a mere conversation; and living with Bobby and Hanbin makes it so _easy_.  Even though giving gifts isn’t Junhwe’s particular pleasure, this seems right, at least on instinct.

 

But as the cashier hands Junhwe a little plastic bag with the wrapped package inside, he’s visited by the strangest urge to toss the whole thing in the trash on the way out.

 

The doubt had waited until he’d finished paying for it to spring itself on him, and he can’t for his life figure out why something so innocuous, so innocent, should make him feel like this.  He clutches the little bag in one hand, a cold, hard lump settling into the pit of his stomach like an ice cube.

 

He balances the cake on his lap on the way home, his eyes fixed unseeingly on the chocolate icing visible through the cellophane window of the cake box, spelling out Hanbin’s name on top of smooth white icing beneath a handsome wall of neatly arranged fruit.  He’s aware every second of the little bag in his hand, with something not unlike fear beginning to swirl in his stomach.

 

Because the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes that this isn’t really an appropriate gift from Junhwe; it’d be more so from Bobby, or Hanbin’s parents; it feels too familiar, too brash.  He briefly considers holding onto it and returning it to the store later, or giving it to Bobby to give to Hanbin instead.

 

He suddenly looks up from the cake in his lap as a cool female voice announces that Junhwe’s just missed his train stop, and he leaps to his feet, nearly upending the cake.  But he’s too late; the doors hiss shut with finality before he can reach them, and Junhwe sits back down, now annoyed too, as if the smothering doubt wasn’t enough.

 

But, he thinks as he sits down on the empty bench to wait for the returning train, maybe it’s not Hanbin’s reaction that has Junhwe feeling so unsettled.  The present isn’t anything spectacular, and yet Junhwe realizes suddenly how many of his own guilty emotions are bound up in this gift, how obvious they might be to Hanbin if only he cared to look.  

 

It feels to Junhwe like a confession.

 

It’s quiet in the apartment when Junhwe gets home, and he puts the cake and his present on the counter and sheds his jacket onto the coathook with a slightly more urgent need overtaking his disturbed thoughts: _bathroom bathroom bathroom bathroom—_

 

When he reemerges from the toilet, he sees Hanbin and Bobby standing by the counter, talking quietly and peering into the cake box.  Hanbin picks up the little bag containing Junhwe’s present, turning it over curiously, and then sets it aside.

 

“Hey.” Junhwe says casually, though his heart gives a single hard thud inside his chest, and then another like the resonant _boom_ of a battle drum, before resuming its normal rhythm.

 

“Hi, Junhwe.” Hanbin says at once.  “Did you get the cake?”

 

“Nope.  Never seen it before in my life.  Must be a very tiny stripper in disguise.”

 

Bobby snorts.

 

Both of them are pink-cheeked and bright-eyed; Junhwe guesses they must’ve only returned a few minutes before he had, given the rising wind scouring his own face on the way home.  “Thank you.” Hanbin says earnestly, lifting the lid off the cake and admiring it at arm’s length.

 

“What’s this?” Bobby says, indicating the little package inside its plastic bag.  Junhwe’s heart gives another hard slam up against his ribs.  He bites the inside of his cheek, but there’s nothing for it.

 

“It’s a present for Hanbin.  It’s not much, but I thought you’d like it.”

 

Hanbin weighs it in his palm.  “Can I open it?”

 

“Nope. It’s just a box, there’s nothing inside.” Junhwe says dryly, chuckling.  Hanbin shakes it gently, curious, and Junhwe melts a little at the excited expression on his face.

 

Hanbin happily pries the tape back slowly with a fingernail.  Junhwe feels as on edge as if Hanbin were dragging his fingernails across a chalkboard instead, the hairs on the back of his neck rising in expectation as Hanbin takes his time—and takes it, and takes it some more.

 

Hanbin carefully slides the silver paper off; Junhwe realizes much too late, with a sort of dull horror, that the little white cardboard box is the same size as a ring box, but Hanbin’s smile doesn’t waver as he pulls the lid off.  Bobby peers over his shoulder curiously, hands on Hanbin’s waist.  

 

Hanbin gives a delighted little gasp.  “Oh, shit.”

 

He digs in the box for a second and holds up a silver tie clip in the shape of Mickey Mouse, the polished silver shining in the palm of his hand, and he looks up at Junhwe with brilliant eyes.  Junhwe’s heart stumbles over itself.

 

“I have to go try this on!” Hanbin says urgently, slipping out of Bobby’s hold into the bedroom to retrieve his necktie, still tied like a noose and hanging limply on the dresser drawer.  Bobby flashes Junhwe an approving grin and thumbs-up.  Junhwe sighs a tiny sigh of relief.

 

Hanbin emerges a second later with the handsome silver bar gleaming proudly on his puffed-out chest, and Bobby adjusts it admiringly.  Junhwe allows himself a moment’s ogling, just because Hanbin looks so nice in his new jewelry and rolled-up shirtsleeves.

 

Hanbin turns to Junhwe and, with no warning whatsoever, throws himself forward to catch Junhwe in a tight hug.  “I love it, thank you.” He murmurs.

 

Junhwe laughs, a little taken aback, but pleased nonetheless; so pleased, in fact, that it makes his face flush embarrassingly.  Hanbin releases him quickly, however, taking a step back almost as if he too is embarrassed; instead of looking up at Junhwe, he glances down at the tie-clip, touching it appreciatively.  “How’d you know I love Mickey Mouse, though?”

 

“Well, for one, you wear a watch with Mickey on the face,” Junhwe says dryly, “and I don’t think I was actually aware you owned a shirt _without_ Mickey Mouse on it until today.”

 

Bobby laughs again.  “Good point.” Hanbin says, patting his tie again, aglow with excitement.  “Thank you.”

 

“No problem.”

 

Hanbin disappears into the bedroom, carefully placing the clip on top of his dresser where he’ll see it at once and wear it in the morning.  Bobby catches Junhwe’s eye and smiles up at him, but it’s a curious look, both admiring and suspicious, and Junhwe doesn’t know what to make of it.  

 

His stomach, however, gives a little plunge of excitement as Bobby’s eyes suddenly narrow challengingly, and the deep breath he takes seems almost as if he’s steeling himself for something.

 

“You ready?” Junhwe asks without preamble. Bobby’s eyes flash.

 

“Yeah.” He says, tongue flicking across his lips.

 

“Would hate to think my lessons went to waste.” Junhwe says smoothly.

 

“They didn’t.” Bobby says.  “When can we have the next one?”

 

“Whenever we have Hanbin’s permission.”

 

“My permission for what?” Hanbin interjects from the doorway of the bedroom.  Bobby’s head snaps around to look at him, and the pleasant tension between Junhwe and Bobby cracks down the middle and crumbles abruptly with the intrusion.  Junhwe’s eyes flick to Bobby with raised eyebrows, and Bobby meets his gaze for a moment before returning to Hanbin, understanding what he means.

 

“We’ll talk about it later, yeah?” He says, perhaps just a touch guiltily.  Junhwe sighs.  That hadn’t been what he meant at all.

 

“Alright.” Hanbin says, suspicious but mollified.

 

And then Bobby turns back to Junhwe, abashed now, and perhaps just a little nervous—or perhaps Junhwe’s imagining it; either way, Junhwe can feel his own claws flexing, pressing into his flesh like little points of pain, stirring up a dark, searing-hot eagerness in him.  Bobby’s look of a cornered animal only makes his blood surge, though he manages to control his own expression.

 

He can’t wait.

 

 

*

 

 

“Oh my god, Jiwon, holy— _unh_ —fuck…” Hanbin huffs, collapsing facedown on the bed as Bobby undoes the rope on Hanbin’s wrists.  He trembles violently, body still ringing with reverberations from his orgasm, made all the more intense by the ropes crisscrossing his body so pleasurably.  “Is this— _mmh_ —is this what Junhwe taught you?”

 

“Yup.  Pretty good, huh?” Bobby says teasingly, sitting down on the backs of Hanbin’s thighs to untie the rest of his body more slowly, hands smoothing over skin imprinted clearly with the pattern of the rope.  He notes that there’s no abrasion this time, only soft marks, and he traces each one with gentle fingertips, admiring the effect.  “What would you say if I told you I wanted to learn more, babe?”

 

“More what?” Hanbin says after a pause, still trembling gently as Bobby flips him over to tease the knots out of the rope on his chest.

 

“More of this.  More games and ropes.  Learning from Junhwe so that I can try it out on you.” Bobby says.

 

“You’re not gonna fuck him, are you?” Hanbin says breathlessly, without opening his eyes.

 

“Course not, baby.” Bobby says soothingly, cupping Hanbin’s face, and Hanbin rolls his head into the touch affectionately.  “Course not, I would never do that.  I just really enjoy doing this with you, and I like the idea of getting better.”

 

Hanbin shivers as Bobby finally tosses the last of the rope over the edge of the bed, cradling him tightly in warm arms that soothe away the ache in his tender skin.  “If Junhwe could teach you more of what you just did, then…oh, is this what you were talking to Junhwe about before?  My permission?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Yeah.  You should.”

 

Bobby smiles and kisses Hanbin over and over again, and Hanbin hums with pleasure, still dazed and soft and so in love.


	13. Chapter 13: Dream

Junhwe’s in the kitchen when Hanbin comes home from work.  He’s got a knife in one hand and bread in the other, and there’s peanut butter smeared on the handle of the knife as he clumsily spreads it—wipes it, really—on his sandwich.  “Jiwon not home yet?” Hanbin says over a shoulder, hanging up his jacket on the coathook.

 

“Haven’t seen him.” Junhwe says casually, squinting into the bottom of the empty jar and stubbornly scraping the last of it out of the bottom, the tip of the knife making a grating sound against the plastic.  “We’re also out of peanut butter.”

 

“Well, we might not have been, given how much peanut butter you have on your knuckles.  How did you even _do_ that?”

 

“Pure fuckin’ magic.” Junhwe says, fitting the second slice of bread neatly on top of the first and patting it fondly.  “The good news, as it were, is that it’s hard to burn this one.  I don’t think you really appreciate how bad I am at making food in general.”

 

“I’m starting to.” Hanbin says, undoing his sleeves to push them up over his elbows.  “Could you hand me a beer?”

 

Junhwe rummages in the fridge, extracting a cold can for both Hanbin and himself.  Hanbin snaps his open, watching Junhwe thoughtfully; and, hyperaware of Hanbin as Junhwe always is, he can almost feel the tension building as Hanbin struggles to dredge up the right words for whatever it is he’s about to say.

 

“I, uh, wanted to thank you.” Hanbin says suddenly, not quite looking Junhwe in the eye, his arms folded in a would-be casual way on the breakfast bar.  Junhwe pauses, sandwich halfway to his mouth pending receipt of further information.

 

“For?” He says curiously, finally taking a bite.  He knows what this is about, but he wants Hanbin to say it.

 

“For—for those lessons you gave Jiwon.” Hanbin says, finally looking up at Junhwe directly, though his expression is fleetingly both abashed and defiant, like a boy caught misbehaving.  Junhwe’s mouth is suddenly rather dry, and he chews and swallows effortfully, peanut butter sticking in the corners of his mouth and threatening to choke him.  His eyes flit over Hanbin’s bare forearms, and while a large part of him is relieved not to see any rope marks, a smaller, deeper part of him is disappointed.

 

“Oh.  Well, yeah.  No problem.” Junhwe says, feeling his own face warming with embarrassed pleasure.  It amazes him how much Hanbin and Bobby manage to perturb him so deeply; if he’s ever been embarrassed at any point in his life like this, he doesn’t remember it.  Having been a Dom for so long had basically killed any bashfulness remaining in his nature, but these two somehow dredge all of that up from some long-dead, long-buried depth.  “Did he talk to you last night?”

 

“A little.” Hanbin shrugs.  “He told me about…about what he’d asked you.”

 

“What exactly did he tell you?” Junhwe prompts, hesitating before taking another bite of his sandwich.  

 

“All he said was learning more things from you.” Hanbin hedges.

 

“You should probably know, then.  He asked me to teach him ropes, which you agreed to, but he also wanted to learn more about Dominance.  He asked for my mentorship.” Junhwe says thickly around a mouthful of peanut butter.  “I’m willing to, but I just wanted to be sure you were okay with it before I did.”

 

Hanbin pauses, and Junhwe can read him so easily, see the hesitation in his expression and the discomfort of the suggestion making his hands tense where they fidget with the buttons on his sleeve.  “What exactly does that entail?” He says uncomfortably.  
  
  


“Well, it’ll be a scene.” Junhwe says clearly, putting down his sandwich and beginning to speak at length, his hands gesturing excitedly; it isn’t hard to see Junhwe’s love for the art, his expression alight with a deep, pure fervor.  “I usually require a new Dom to submit to me, and I run them through various implements, bondage, maybe some impact play.  I try my best to get them into subspace, though that doesn’t always work depending on individual needs.  And I can see by your expression what you’re worried about, so I won’t mince words.  I don’t have sex with my clients.”

 

“You don’t?” Hanbin blinks, surprised, and Junhwe shakes his head.

 

“Never have. The risk is just not worth the payoff, in my opinion.  I don’t even kiss my clients unless it’s negotiated beforehand.  I do this particular scene, dominating a Dom, in order to build empathy, so that he knows how it feels for you.”

 

Hanbin nods, his eyes fixed blankly on the pocket of Junhwe’s shirt, his thoughts in disarray.  He _does_ want Bobby to learn—Junhwe’s lessons had already proven their immense worth—and yet something is holding him back, making him hesitate.

 

“I’m okay with it.” Hanbin says resolutely, staring at Junhwe’s collar.  Junhwe raises an eyebrow, clearly undeceived.

 

“You seem a little bothered.  What’s up?” He says gently, lowering his head to catch Hanbin’s eye.  “If you don’t want it to happen, that’s fine, but we should talk about it regardless.”

 

“No, it’s…” Hanbin says, chewing his lower lip, and Junhwe bites his own lip unconsciously in imitation.  “…I mean, if you say you’re not going to do anything—you know— _sexual_ , then…it’s fine.”  

 

But what’s really holding Hanbin back is not discomfort, but curiosity.  He trusts Junhwe—inasmuch as he’d trust anyone else with Bobby in such a capacity—and yet he can’t help but want to see it for himself.

 

“…could I at least watch?” He says finally.

 

Junhwe sighs thoughtfully, leaning on one hand on the counter, picking up his sandwich and then putting it back down.  “Well, you _could_ , yes.  However, I’m going to do my best to warn you away from that.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because Jiwon is a Dom, and Doms don’t often like an audience for their submission.  Not to mention, from a professional point of view, I don’t think it’d be appropriate for a sub to see his Dom submitting.” Junhwe says.  “It could interfere with discipline, you see?”

 

Hanbin frowns, disappointed by this answer, but unwilling to challenge it.  “Yeah, I guess that makes sense.” He nods, still sucking his lower lip contemplatively.

 

“If you were hell-bent on seeing it, or you didn’t trust me, then I could arrange to film it for you.  As long as Jiwon agrees, anyway.” Junhwe adds.

 

Hanbin regards Junhwe with a cautious, eager, excited expression, his gaze flitting between Junhwe’s eyes as if trying to catch one of them lying; but finally, with all the tension leaving him almost at once, he says, “No, I trust you.”

 

“Thank you.  What changed your mind?” Junhwe says.

 

Hanbin shrugs, taking a slurp of beer before answering.  “You wouldn’t offer to film it for me if you were going to do something wrong, would you?  I mean, I still want to watch out of curiosity, but your reasoning makes sense, too.”

 

“You’re right about all that.  And you should know that I pride myself on return clients, so the last thing I would want to do is to upset you or Jiwon.  Not to mention I rather enjoy living here with you, so I really do not want to disturb that.”

 

“Return customers, huh?” Hanbin says, and there’s a suddenly playful, curious, sharp tone to his voice that Junhwe doesn’t like at all, mainly because it makes the pit of his stomach flood with sudden, unwelcome arousal.

 

“Hey, I mean…I _am_ a professional, and it isn’t as if Jiwon is the first person to want to hire me.” Junhwe says easily, leaning against the counter.  “Though this is admittedly the first time I’ve had someone I lived with ask.”

 

“So, hypothetically speaking, if we were going to—to hire you…” Hanbin says slowly, in a way that suggests that he’s not being hypothetical at all.  Then he pauses, looking Junhwe over with that same searching stare.  Junhwe feels his heart rate rise rapidly, working to disperse the heat spreading ruthlessly through him.  

 

However, he’s practiced enough at keeping it together that Hanbin wouldn’t be able to tell Junhwe’s breaking a sweat even if Junhwe rubbed Hanbin’s face in his armpit.  Probably.

 

“Hypothetically speaking, if you were going to hire me, my going rate is three hundred per hour, minimum one hour.  I charge a little extra for certain supplies, but not much, and for that price I’m yours—royal _you_ , that is—to command.”

 

“That much?” Hanbin says.  “Why is it so expensive?”

 

“‘Cause it’s a fair price when I’m damn good at what I do.” Junhwe says in a voice that comes out altogether lower and more teasing than he intended it to.

 

 _Oh, shit_.

 

“Makes sense…I guess I should’ve expected you to be expensive.” Hanbin says, leaning on his hand, still watching Junhwe thoughtfully, and Junhwe can almost hear Hanbin’s curiosity hanging unspoken at the end of his sentence.   _Hypothetical, my ass._

 

And maybe Junhwe’s just plain stunned by Hanbin’s beauty—like usual—or maybe it’s that he never had much sense to begin with; either way, he can’t stop himself from leaning forward secretively, holding Hanbin’s gaze, and in the same flirtatious, low tone, adds, “Well, if you _couldn’t_ afford it, I like you two enough that I’d consider alternative forms of payment.”

 

For a moment, Hanbin can’t move, transfixed by Junhwe’s deep, striking black stare, the curve of his predatory smirk sending tingles of warmth spreading across Hanbin’s nerves.  Hanbin blushes, and then a surge of hot blood makes his head ring, galvanizing him somehow.  A smile creeps onto his own lips in response.

 

“Such as?”

 

“I’m sure I can think of something.  I’m very creative.”

 

“Threat, promise or warning?” Hanbin retorts, eyes narrowed, echoing Junhwe’s own words back to him.

 

“Oh, it's a promise.” Junhwe laughs too, wondering just what the hell he thinks he’s playing at.

 

 

*

 

 

Junhwe’s side of the apartment faces south, so the whole room is full of brilliant daylight glaring harshly off the white face of Bobby’s notebook, bringing out tiny, dark-blue notes in Junhwe’s dyed black hair that Bobby can’t help but stare at when Junhwe moves his head.

 

Bobby’s sitting on the edge of Junhwe’s bed while Junhwe sits in the desk chair, and they’re talking music together, Bobby scratching out lines here and there, taking little notes at Junhwe’s suggestions.

 

“I think you’d be better off with this line down here.” Junhwe says, leaning across to point with his pen; Bobby twitches nervously at the sudden movement, and Junhwe almost laughs aloud.

 

Bobby’s been restless and distracted since he’d come in, shifting on the mattress, fidgeting with the hole in the thigh of his jeans, a tantalizing little window of skin that Junhwe finds himself staring at in turn; his eyes coast over the knobs of Bobby’s knuckles and his broad fingers clutching the notebook, at the golden line of his neck above the droop of the collar of his t-shirt, and—well, Junhwe’s not really paying attention as closely as he appears to be.

 

But eventually Bobby flips the notebook closed, and if his hands shake just a little bit with nerves, Junhwe doesn’t notice, or at least he doesn’t mention it.  “Thanks for the help.  I’ll be sure to put your name in the notes so that it makes it into the final acknowledgements.  It might even make you some royalties, if it ever hits big.”

 

“It’s nice to dream.” Junhwe says lazily, leaning his face against his hand on the desk.  “But I appreciate it anyway.”

 

Bobby gets to his feet, and Junhwe’s a little disappointed when Bobby turns away from him as if to leave; he certainly wasn’t going to be the one to bring it up, not when this was so evidently something Bobby intended to pursue, but as it turns out, he doesn’t have to.

 

“Is now a good time for our lesson?” Bobby says, his jaw set with a grim sort of eagerness, as if steeling himself.  Junhwe smirks.

 

“Sure.  Ask me anything you want before we start, then.” He says coolly, and Bobby meets his gaze, determinedly calm.

 

Then Bobby flushes.  “Er, stupid question, but you’re not gonna, like, fuck me or anything, right?”

 

Junhwe shakes his head.  “That’s not a stupid question.  I want you to go into this feeling as calm as you can, so you should ask whatever you can think of.  I don’t have sex with my clients, ever, but I also stick to whatever rules you set for me.  You say no kissing, you say no touching at all, you say whatever, then I’m bound to that.  Pun intended.

 

“In your case, I won’t kiss you or touch any erogenous zones with my hands, though there will probably be some contact from implements.  You, on the other hand, are not allowed to touch me above the knees at any point during the scene, and I expect you to undress down to your underwear; I can manage a scene well enough like that, and ultimately the point of this is for you to experience impact play and bondage and, if I can manage it, subspace.  Is all that okay with you?”

 

Bobby’s head cocks thoughtfully to one side.  “Makes sense.  Yeah, I think that’ll all be okay.  But what I want to know is, how do you do a scene without touching someone at all?”

 

Junhwe grins.  “You’d be surprised—or, I don't know, maybe you wouldn’t—to learn that my voice can be a pretty effective weapon.”

 

“Ah.” Bobby says, almost with satisfaction.

 

“You _are_ surprised.”

 

“More to learn that this isn’t a sexual thing.”

 

“Oh, let’s not kid ourselves.  It’s sexual.” Junhwe says smoothly, getting to his feet in one lithe motion like a cat arching in a fluid stretch, and then he advances on Bobby slowly, implacably.  Bobby, pulse quickening, takes a step back for each step Junhwe takes forward until he bumps into the door, which latches quietly under the weight of his body.

 

Junhwe plants a hand on one side of Bobby’s head, so close Bobby can smell his cologne, so close he can see the smooth texture of Junhwe’s generous lips stretched in a wolfish smile, the smooth paleness of his skin, his half-lidded eyes burning like pitch.  “But sex isn’t what enslaves people.  Sex isn’t what bends them to your will.  Sex isn’t what makes them _beg_.” He says with relish, his voice growing softer and softer as he speaks.

 

“ _Desire_ is.”

 

Junhwe hasn’t touched Bobby at all yet, hasn’t even made a motion to; but Bobby can feel his nerves straining as if he _wants_ Junhwe to.  After all, being forced to eat the forbidden fruit—having no choice but to taste the apple—how could he feel guilty for it?  Even if he could, how could he resist?

 

“What is your safeword?” Junhwe says.

 

“ _Airplane_.”

 

“The first lesson I teach in Dominance is to _submit_.  I want your submission, Jiwon.  Will you give it to me?”

 

Bobby swallows hard.  “Yes.”

 

“Then strip for me.” Junhwe says.

 

Bobby hesitates, and then his fingers reluctantly find the hem of his shirt, lifting it to show a flash of caramel skin.  Junhwe takes a step back to give Bobby some space and to retrieve a very long length of silky black rope from his dresser drawer.

 

In no time, Bobby’s down to his underwear, flushed with—anger?  Embarrassment, humiliation?

 

Junhwe can’t wait to find out.

 

“Over here.  Kneel on the carpet.” Junhwe says, pointing, and Bobby does as he’s told, trembling with a resurgence of nerves and feeling horribly vulnerable, but disoriented too, as if Junhwe had dealt him a blow to the head.  A significant part of his mind finds this funny, almost comical, but a larger part is intimidated, and both aspects are overlaid with a breathless hysteria; he feels a bizarre desire to laugh, but manages to stifle it into a hiccup.

 

The rope trails softly along the floor as Junhwe moves around behind Bobby, and he’s expecting to feel the rope at any moment.  He’s surprised again, however, when Junhwe slips a blindfold over his head instead, masking his eyes.  It’s so thick that Bobby’s completely blinded, even from the brilliance of the early afternoon sun that had filled his vision not a moment before.

 

“From now until the end of this scene, you will address me as _June_ or _sir_.” Junhwe says calmly, adjusting the blindfold.  Bobby really does laugh a little at this.

 

“June?”

 

“Or _sir_.” Junhwe repeats, sounding amused too.  “What’s so funny?”

 

“I dunno, I just,” Bobby shrugs lightly.  Junhwe takes both of Bobby’s wrists in one hand, looping the rope around them.  “I was expecting _Master_ or something.   _June_ is…I’m not sure I can take you seriously with such a cute title.”  

 

Junhwe’s voice is very close to Bobby’s ear when he speaks again, so close Bobby can feel the brush of Junhwe’s breath on his neck.  “You will.” He says simply.  It sounds like a threat, and Bobby interprets it as such; and that alone is enough to quell any of Bobby’s lingering amusement.

 

Junhwe’s grip wraps firm around Bobby’s upper arm, and he ties Bobby’s arms behind his back with the length of rope, forearms together and each hand on the opposite elbow.  The smooth feeling of the rope on his skin is delicious, as are Junhwe’s occasional, polite touches, and Bobby finds himself relaxing at the sensation alone, though he’s still wary and nervous, too.  “This is one I haven’t shown you before.  It’s called the Box Tie.  Is it comfortable?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“That’s _yes, sir_ to you.” Junhwe says calmly, his tone lowering a register in a way that makes Bobby’s skin crawl.

 

“Yes, sir.” Bobby repeats, a little nettled.

 

And for the first time, Bobby becomes aware that there’s a role he’s expected to play, that he’s expected to please Junhwe somehow.  And thinking back to earlier moments, when Junhwe had sent Hanbin reeling with no more than a rope, and how Bobby, too, had more recently touched on that elusive dark space—pleasing someone like this comes so naturally to Hanbin that Bobby realizes he himself has no idea _how_ , no clue where even to begin.

 

No matter.  Hanbin’s not here, and Bobby puts him out of his mind.  Junhwe will tell him, one way or another, what to do; whether or not Bobby chooses to indulge it is yet to be seen.  Whether Junhwe will tolerate his resistance, however, is hardly debatable.

 

The ropes wind around Bobby’s chest, yoking his shoulders and crisscrossing his body until he can barely move.  He can feel the warmth of the sun through the window on his bare skin, and the brush of Junhwe’s knuckles against him with each twist of the line that’s got him wrapped up in its coils like a serpent.

 

Bobby shifts experimentally, but the ropes have no give whatsoever, merely squeezing him uncomfortably each time he moves.  He makes a muted sound of discontent, but Junhwe ignores him.

 

“One last thing.” Junhwe says.  “You may speak and ask questions, since this is for your learning more than anything else.  But you’ll precede them with _sir_ and wait for my permission to speak before continuing.  Is that understood?”

 

“Yes.  Sir.”

 

Bobby hears the grating sound of Junhwe’s chair scooting across the tile floor, and then the creak as Junhwe settles into it.  Something presses very gently, very precisely against Bobby’s chin to tip his head back, exposing the long line of his neck where veins are already standing out against his skin.

 

It’s only when Junhwe carefully drags the sole of his boot over the point of Bobby’s jaw that Bobby realizes what it is, the heel catching him on the chin and the tread pressing lightly into his cheek.  Bobby flinches, but he can’t go far, and he makes a face.  

 

“Is that your fucking _boot_?” Bobby says, a little angry, a little unsettled.

 

“Be quiet.” Junhwe laughs softly, and Bobby can picture his expression, darkly predatory, his straight black eyebrows arched in amusement, white teeth bared in a savage grin.  

 

“But—”

 

Junhwe shifts his boot slightly so that the tread covers Bobby’s lips, and Bobby quivers slightly, making a muffled sound of protest.  “Either follow the rules, or I’ll gag you.  Your choice, little Bunny.”

 

His voice is light, pleasant even, callously amused.  Bobby is stubborn, angry and humiliated and defiant, but Junhwe’s relishing the challenge of curing him of all that.  He knows just how to take away control, to set in motion the earthquake that shakes down walls, to play all that urgency and rebellion to the surface before overloading the systems and shutting Bobby down catastrophically.

 

Bobby nods reluctantly, tensing at the threat, and then relaxing in his bonds a little.  The rope creaks softly in the silence, only the sound of Bobby’s heavy breathing audible in the tense stillness; Junhwe takes his boot away from Bobby’s face slowly, gliding the freshly-polished toe across Bobby’s cheek in an oddly affectionate motion.

 

Bobby hears Junhwe getting to his feet and the rustle of his clothing, and the motion stirs the air around him, bringing with it another waft of Junhwe’s scent, clean and somehow alluring.  Bobby finds himself breathing more deeply, more slowly.  The blindfold, stealing his vision, is beginning to amplify his other senses in turn; it seems as if every last grain of his attention is focused like a spotlight on Junhwe now, on the sound of his slow, deliberate footsteps, suspended in impatience for whatever surprise Junhwe is planning next.  

 

He fidgets again, tongue wetting his lips, and the rope creaks softly in response.

 

“Sit up a little.  I’m going to bend you over this stool.” Junhwe murmurs, though Bobby flinches at the sound of his voice, the heady silence collapsing in on itself.

 

“Why?” Bobby says suspiciously, though he doesn’t (and, really, _can’t_ ) resist as Junhwe snares a hand in the ropes to support him as he arranges Bobby on top of the stool.  This new position makes Bobby feel even more exposed, his ass no longer defended by his legs as it had been in his kneeling position.

 

“Because I want to.” Junhwe says in the same cool, soft tone, though he punctuates it with a sharp slap to Bobby’s ass, a blow more startling than painful, making Bobby jerk in surprise.  “Hey, look at that.  Your first spanking.”

 

Bobby’s face burns, anger and embarrassment bubbling sickeningly in the pit of his stomach, but he forces himself to take a deep breath.  Then he’s distracted by a new sensation:  Something soft trailing across his lower back, the backs of his bare thighs, thin strands of softness that make him shiver with ticklishness.  “This is a whip.” Junhwe says.  “You remember the one Donghyuk carries?”

 

Bobby tenses in anticipation, but Junhwe doesn’t seem to be quite ready to hit him outright, because something else brushes coolly across the backs of his thighs now, thicker and flatter, like a belt.  “And this is a riding crop.”

 

“Whip and riding crop.” Bobby repeats cautiously.

 

Junhwe laughs softly again, and Bobby recognizes it once again as a threat.  “And this is a paddle.”

 

Bobby only just has time to tense before impact, the sharp clout of the paddle making his head ring.  Like before, it’s not a hard blow, but it leaves him breathless anyway and unsure of whether he’s supposed to like it or not.  He’s not sure what’s more disturbing.

 

Junhwe moves again, and Bobby somehow can sense, or hear, the sound of whatever he’s wielding cutting through the air; this time it’s a lash of white-hot stripes whipping across his skin, multiple strands of leather stinging viciously even through Bobby’s underwear.  Bobby growls with pure reaction.

 

“What’s this?”

 

“Whip.”

 

“Very good.” Junhwe says with satisfaction.  “So you’ll know what this one is.”

 

Bobby had thought it’d be easy to tell the difference between the three, but the impact leaves a lingering burn that makes his half-developed thoughts flutter around his brain like flecks of ash on a draught.  It _should_ be easy to tell; in contrast to the deep-seated ache of the whip that leaves flaring stripes of pain in its wake, the sharp, stinging flit of the crop across the backs of his thighs dissipates more quickly, and snaps as loudly as a firework in Bobby’s ears.  Even easier to discern is the _thump_ of the paddle.

 

Or at least, it might have been easy if Bobby were able to collect his thoughts into any semblance of order.  Unfortunately for him, however, Junhwe seems to be jarring his mind a little more out of its socket with each blow, his thoughts flickering unsteadily.  Junhwe hums with pleasure, resting a boot lightly on Bobby’s shoulder and bringing the paddle down with some force against Bobby’s ass, the motion digging the tread against Bobby’s shoulderblade.

 

Whatever happens then, Bobby doesn’t know.  He seems to be shutting down finally, smaller parts of his mind caught up in a slow-rolling blackout, the ache in his knees and the burning of his skin blurring together into a long, red streak of pain.

 

Junhwe’s boot lifts off his shoulder, leaving behind a neat pattern of dents and ripples, and Junhwe runs his fingers over it appreciatively.  “Had enough?”

 

Bobby grunts, trembling, his mouth hanging open as he pants for breath.  He’s sweating, sniffling, his lips swollen where he’d been biting them, and Junhwe shivers with delight at the sight of him so utterly debased already.  He’s overcome with the urge to kiss Bobby right there, to taste his desperation, but he reins himself in.  Barely.

 

And as for Bobby—well, _June_ is no longer a funny concept; he’s suddenly taking Junhwe very, very seriously indeed.

 

Bobby catches the rich, smoky smell of leather a second before a gloved hand wraps gently across his jaw, a glove studded with a thousand tiny points of exquisite sharpness that graze ever-so-lightly across his tender lips.  Bobby gasps again, gooseflesh erupting all over his body from scalp to sole.  “Hm, you like this one?” Junhwe says, sounding pleased as Bobby squirms at the interesting new sensation.

 

Junhwe releases Bobby’s chin to drag the glove gingerly down the back of Bobby’s red, sore thighs instead, and Bobby whines embarrassingly, wriggling a little more urgently now.  Those points of needle-bright, deliciously sharp sensation make his nerves sing an eerie tune, a constellation of bright, exquisite pain that rakes over his skin and leaves nothing but pleasure in its wake.  

 

“What—” Bobby gulps,  “what _is_ that?”

 

Junhwe claps his hand firmly to the back of Bobby’s thigh, and Bobby twitches as the sharpness magnifies a hundredfold—and makes a straight line for his dick, which has been hard almost since they’d started; his hips twitch forward with as much eagerness as apprehension, and Junhwe smiles so wide he feels his cheeks beginning to ache.  

 

Bobby had been an easier nut to crack than he’d anticipated, so to speak, but that doesn’t mean Junhwe isn’t enjoying this more than almost any client he’s ever had in his life.

 

“Just a leather glove with thumbtacks in the palm.” Junhwe says, slowly drawing his palm over the sole of Bobby’s bare foot, the thrilling sharpness making Bobby’s toes curl as pleasure rolls through him like thunder.

 

Finally, Junhwe reaches forward again to smooth his gloved hand through Bobby’s damp hair, and Bobby actually whimpers, breath ragged, jaw hanging open loosely.  “Good, huh?” Junhwe prompts, and Bobby sniffs wetly by way of response as Junhwe strokes his hair again and again.  It almost feels tender, the slow sweep of Junhwe’s hand against his scalp, sending ripples of eager pleasure racing across his oversensitive skin.

 

Junhwe’s bare hand suddenly digs into the rope crisscrossing Bobby’s shoulders, hauling him upright carefully.  “On your back.”  Bobby’s too dazed to resist or even question Junhwe by now; it’s far easier to do as he’s told, and the predominant haze lying over his dim, distant thoughts has him trusting Junhwe’s instincts even as he lets his own go.

 

Thunderstruck as he is, Bobby doesn’t understand this now, but he will later.

 

“How does subspace feel, little Bunny?” Junhwe says calmly, and Bobby trembles; he can almost _feel_ Junhwe speaking, as if Junhwe’s leather and polish voice were studded, too, with a hundred tiny metal spikes that glide over abused skin so deliciously.

 

“…What?  Subspace?” Bobby repeats absently, in a voice quite unlike his own.  “It’s good.”

 

Junhwe is busy with a new piece of rope, now binding Bobby’s calves to his thighs, drawing tight and pinning him so securely that he feels like a Christmas present.  This new helplessness is galvanizing, and he squirms, coming back to his senses a little to press his knees together, but Junhwe nudges them apart firmly with the toe of his boot.

 

“Keep them spread until I tell you to close them.” He says calmly, and Bobby swallows, relaxing once more.  An inexplicable smile spreads across Bobby’s lips, though nothing in particular is funny; he simply feels _good_.

 

“What are you gonna do now?” Bobby says thickly.  Junhwe scoots the chair across the floor, ignoring Bobby’s question.  “Sir?”

 

“I thought I gave you very specific instructions on how to address me.” He says, in a tone that makes Bobby shiver with its sudden coldness.  “Let’s talk about your manners, little Bunny.”

 

As he speaks, Bobby feels the tread of Junhwe’s boot find its way into the crook of his hip, pressing down, the rubber hard and pinching against his sensitive skin.  

 

“Tell me what I said at the beginning.” Junhwe says.

 

Bobby’s lips twist mutinously, and while the obedient, pliant, dizzy part of himself is urging him to speak, a fragment of defiance is lodged in his tongue, and he remains silent and lock-jawed.

 

“If I have to ask you again, I will make you regret it.” Junhwe says, tone full of icy promise.  “What did I say?”

 

Junhwe moves his boot slightly to the left, and Bobby lets out a sharp breath as he rests the sole against Bobby’s crotch.  The shape of his cock is evident through the stretchy fabric of his underwear, eager and hard, a little wet spot gathering in the crook of his hip.  Bobby grunts, breathing growing heavier, but still he resists.

 

Junhwe moves again, chair creaking slightly, and something bites into the skin just beneath Bobby’s nipple.  

 

Bobby lets out a sharp noise as a second pinch grabs him on the other side, and then a third and fourth in the immediate vicinity; a fifth finds itself lodged just below Bobby’s navel, a grip intense almost to the point of numbness.

 

Bobby squirms, and Junhwe presses the sole of his boot into Bobby’s crotch as if revving an engine.  Bobby hisses with a surge of anger, but Junhwe takes no notice, not budging an inch.

 

“Hurts.” Bobby growls.

 

“Does it?” Junhwe says unconcernedly.  “You should’ve thought of that before, shouldn’t you?  You had your chance.” He scuffs his boot lightly back and forth over Bobby’s crotch, and Bobby growls, flinching.  He can imagine the way Junhwe leans forward on the stool, the quirk of his soft mouth, his eyes ink-black and narrowed with eagerness, and Bobby feels a wave of renewed hatred and intensity that momentarily clears the vapor from his mind.

 

But Bobby’s utterly helpless, too, and he struggles sharply against his bonds.  Junhwe’s foot lifts briefly from where it rests between his legs, and Bobby lets out a sharp breath of respite.  

 

Only to be disappointed when Junhwe uses the toe of his boot to flick away the implement that’s nipped into the flesh of his belly, the lingering burn it leaves behind shocking him as Junhwe’s foot returns with a vengeance to his dick.

 

The press and pinch of hard rubber against his cock through his underwear makes him writhe, trapped exquisitely between rapture and torture, and the anger fades so quickly from his mind that he can’t even remember _why_ he had been in the first place.  He moans helplessly, enraged.

 

“Is that right?” Junhwe says conversationally.

 

“Ah—no, stop—” Bobby says, increasingly agitated by the pain in his thighs and cock, the intensity almost too much to bear.  Junhwe picks up his foot again, and Bobby breathes a sigh of relief only for Junhwe to kick both implements away from the right side of his chest, and the red-hot sting of their release seems to explode over the surface of his skin.  Bobby’s whole body is alive and awake in its restraints, overwhelmed and oh-so-exquisitely-close to breaking altogether.  

 

He’s so humiliated, furious and stunned, so hideously aroused, that he’s not entirely sure he wouldn’t hump Junhwe’s leg if he asked for it.

 

“ _Beg_ me to stop.” Junhwe says with relish, and Bobby shakes his head wildly back and forth, though whether it’s a refusal to obey or pure physiological reaction to pain, neither of them are sure.  It doesn’t matter.  Only this matters, this clash of wills, and a Master is only a Master when he has a slave.

 

“By all means, take your time.  I’m _very_ patient, and I know you’ll submit to me in the end.” Junhwe murmurs, a smile in his voice as he steps on Bobby still harder until he groans.  Bobby’s thighs close protectively around Junhwe’s boot, though it does him less than no good.  “It’s why you came to me, isn’t it?”

 

And it's so obvious in a hundred tiny clues, in the helpless, absent twitch of Bobby's body as he strains for the control Junhwe’s placed just out of reach, in the flutter of his belly above the waistband of his underwear, in the twisted snarl of his lips.  Bobby's about to break, and Junhwe’s going to be the one to shatter him.

 

“Stop—ah—stop—” Bobby repeats, unable to hear himself speaking through the rush of sensation filling his ears, a strange loud unidentifiable hissing like a badly-tuned radio.  Junhwe realizes his mind is wandering, and he grins even wider as he reaches down, digging his heel into Bobby’s crotch.  He cups Bobby’s chin with a rough hand, squeezing until Bobby's lips purse with the pressure.

 

“You belong to me.” Junhwe says in a dark, low voice quite at odds with the harsh grip of his hand.  “You do as I say, you give me what I want, and I want you to give yourself over to me.”

 

Bobby makes a muffled, strained noise of protest, unable to speak through his pursed lips.  “Give in.  It's alright, Jiwon.  Give it to me.”

 

And, releasing Bobby’s chin, he swats the last two clothespins off Bobby’s chest with a sweep of his hand.  

 

Bobby, overwhelmed and helpless, does the only thing that makes sense.

 

He gives in.

 

His voice is dragged raw and wordless from his throat; he doesn’t know he’s coming, his body ablaze and mind speeding through a phantasmagoria of pain, pleasure, agony, ecstasy until he’s being crushed, breathless, under the weight of it.  The rage and humiliation lend their edge to the sweetness, running together like badly-mixed paint and rushing straight to his head in the most intense delirium.

 

“Yeah, like that.  That’s it, just like that.” Junhwe murmurs encouragingly, finally removing his boot from where Bobby’s thighs are locked tightly together around his leg.  

 

Bobby's mind is blank, senses shut down, and the next thing he's aware of is the sound of Junhwe’s husky voice near his ear.

 

“Jiwon?  Hey, Jiwon.  Talk to me, bud.”

 

Bobby makes a little hoarse noise of acknowledgement, and Junhwe chuckles.  “Yeah, I bet so.” He says, and his voice is full of gentleness Bobby can’t place.

 

He lifts Bobby onto the bed with some difficulty, and then sets about undoing Bobby’s bindings, easing him out into a flat position with hands as gentle as his voice, talking Bobby slowly down from his high.  Bobby’s so exhausted he can’t do much more than whimper, panting as blood rushes painfully into his stiff legs.

 

There are rope marks imprinted into Bobby’s golden skin, deep enough to shadow in the warm afternoon sunlight.  Junhwe sits on the bed next to him, rubbing the feeling back into Bobby’s fingers with both hands.  “You alright?”

 

Bobby nods, still breathless, still blindfolded, and Junhwe leans over him to slide the blindfold up over Bobby’s forehead, grinning down at him; Bobby squints up at him, narrow-eyed in the sudden brightness and blotchy-faced with lingering intensity.

 

“Hey.” Bobby croaks.

 

“Hi.” Junhwe says, smiling serenely, and he runs a finger around the edge of the blindfold to push Bobby’s damp hair out of his eyes.  It’s a soft touch, but Bobby’s still so keyed up it makes him shudder.  “How do you feel?”

 

“Fuck.” Bobby says by way of reply.

 

Junhwe chuckles.  “Good.”

 

And then as Bobby shifts experimentally and feels the slickness of cum against his hip, he realizes the truth.  Junhwe had made him come— _forced him to come_ —and to Bobby’s shame and surprise, he feels tears stinging in his eyes.  He draws in a gasp, swallowing them back fiercely where they come to rest in a sharp knot just behind his tongue, but Junhwe is undeceived.  

 

“Hey, it’s okay.” He says gently, and when Bobby turns his head away stubbornly and closes his eyes to hide the glitter of tears threatening to spill, Junhwe merely gathers Bobby into his arms. “It’s okay.”

 

Bobby protests weakly, pushing at Junhwe’s shoulders; he feels as if he’s about to fly apart, and a dry sob echoes in his throat as he buries his face in Junhwe’s shoulder.  Junhwe squeezes him tighter, until Bobby’s locked as tightly in his arms as he had been in the rope, and Bobby trembles with suppressed emotion, arms curled inward into Junhwe’s chest and head resting on his collarbone.

 

The tightness of the hug is almost painful to Junhwe now, his shoulders strained and his muscles aching, but he doesn’t really mind.  He can feel from the wild quivering of Bobby’s body that he’s trusting Junhwe not to let him fly apart, believing that Junhwe’s not too soft to contain him.  Like a bird seeking the weak spot in a cage and finding none, only to learn to trust the safety of its own confinement—a paradoxical freedom.

 

It doesn’t take long for the tears to subside, and Bobby wipes his nose on Junhwe’s shirt flippantly, making Junhwe laugh and hold him at arm’s length.  The expression on Junhwe’s handsome face is warm, almost meltingly affectionate, and Bobby feels a strange little check at his heart, like his stomach had just jumped up to high-five it through his diaphragm.

 

But there’s something else going on in Bobby’s mind, too, something more complex than just need and satisfaction, more than agony and relief, than pressure and release.  He’s aching all over, his dick throbbing with soreness and his underwear disgustingly damp, his skin still hot where Junhwe had struck him over and over again, but his thoughts are bobbing peacefully in the surf, like the immense, quiet stillness after a tsunami.  Junhwe had taken all of Bobby’s control, had forced him into a shape he hadn’t wanted; yet, it had been a pure release, leaving behind nothing but sweetness and trust.

 

Junhwe strokes Bobby’s cheek with his knuckles, a familiar, affectionate gesture that Bobby doesn’t mind, not at all, not when he feels that little check at his heart again.  For one thrilling moment, he’d thought Junhwe was going to kiss him.

 

In fact, Junhwe merely ruffles his hair in a chummy sort of way, and Bobby grins.  “That was _awesome_.” He says earnestly.  “You’re a Dom through and through, though.  I could make you break, but you don’t bend for shit.”

 

“Uh…thanks.  I think?” Bobby says, wincing at how raw his voice sounds in his throat.

 

“Oh, it was a compliment.”  Junhwe says, getting to his feet and helping Bobby up too.  “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up, Hanbin is going to cry if he sees you looking like this.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“Like I spanked you for an hour.”

 

“You did.”

 

“Yes, but there’s a fine line between sharing and bragging.” Junhwe says.

 

Bobby showers while Junhwe sits against the wall just outside the bathroom, talking in raised voices over the running of the shower as Bobby splashes around.  Some ten minutes later, he reemerges looking much refreshed, though there are still tiny, shallow scratches on his skin from the vampire glove, and he lifts the bottom of his towel proudly to show Junhwe the red marks he’d left behind with the whip.

 

“You sure you’re not a sub?” Junhwe says, hand shooting out to pinch the back of Bobby’s reddened thigh.  Bobby yelps, clutching the towel around his waist with a hiccup of laughter.

 

“ _No_.” Bobby says, a touch sarcastically, pulling his towel down and smoothing it in mock-offense.  Junhwe laughs.  “But really, how did I do?” He adds, his eyebrows furrowing with something a little like concern.

 

“What can I say?  You’re a lot of fun to play with.” Junhwe says serenely.  “You didn’t make it too easy on me, though.”

 

“I don’t think I could do it again, though.  That was a lot more work than I expected for just laying on the ground.”

 

“That’s the idea, anyway.  You won’t take Hanbin for granted after that.” Junhwe says.  “But I don’t blame you.  I definitely don’t have the patience for it anymore.  Was it a learning experience enough for you, or what?”

 

“I’m not sure I learned anything from that.” Bobby says, growling as he stretches his arms over his head.  “My brain stopped working sometime after the whip and before the shower.  Maybe you’d just better demonstrate on Hanbin, and I’ll watch.”

 

Junhwe smothers a sudden surge of heat at Bobby’s suggestion, remembering Hanbin’s flirtatious smile from the day before and hating himself for taking the bait.  “You guys _are_ pretty fun to play with.” He concedes evasively.

 

“I mean it.” Bobby says thoughtfully, looking sidelong at Junhwe as he digs in his ear with a corner of the towel.  “It would be awesome if you did.  I bet you could really teach us both some cool stuff.”

 

“That’s true.” Junhwe says.  “I’ll even make you a great offer on it.”

 

“Three hundred an hour, right?” Bobby says.

 

“No,” Junhwe says smoothly, smirking up at Bobby, “I’ll just take it out of your hide.”


	14. Chapter 14: Heat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you guys go! Happy Thanksgiving to you all <3

If Bobby had expected things to be awkward after his scene with Junhwe, he’d been even more relieved to discover that his anxieties had, once again, been unfounded.

 

Junhwe’s toys and rope had vanished among the tidy boxes beneath Junhwe’s bed, no sign left behind whatsoever that they had even existed, and by no gesture or word did he indicate that he and Bobby had shared anything more than polite conversation behind his closed door.

 

Bobby almost wishes he would say something, wishes Junhwe would acknowledge it, because he can’t stop thinking about it.  Junhwe’s immediate return to his usual noisy self betrayed a professional ease, a particular kind of bearing that kept a line drawn firmly in the flesh—Junhwe on this side, _June_ on the other.  And all of it vanishes like mist, the memories slipping through his fingers slickly like Bobby had only dreamed of it.

 

And what a dream it had been.

 

He’d moved around in a state of hazy slap-happiness for the rest of the afternoon, as if he’d been woken from a deep sleep and left to rouse himself from the persistent grogginess.  Junhwe had brought him a cup of coffee and sat on the couch with him, chatting idly and letting Bobby rest under his arm.  

 

It had struck Bobby as odd that Junhwe would be so affectionate, but Junhwe had only laughed when Bobby questioned it.  “Can’t help it, I guess.  I get kind of mushy after a scene, what can I say?  But being nice to someone after I’ve just beat the tar out of them goes a long way toward more scenes.”

 

Bobby nodded, reassured by this response, and then without the slightest transition nodded straight into a doze with Junhwe’s arm draped across his shoulders companionably.

 

But for all Junhwe’s professional bearing and discretion, Bobby can hardly stand the silence, wanting confirmation that it had really happened, a squirm of eager discomfort wriggling in his belly.  Finding himself on the business end of Junhwe’s paddle had been all fine and good, but he wants more than confirmation:  He wants _more,_ period—he wants to _see_ Junhwe in action.  

 

Hanbin had been most curious about the scene, and he’d pressed Bobby for details of everything that night, asking prying questions over everything—from the implements to his own experience of subspace—that Bobby could only answer half-truthfully, struggling to recall all the details of a memory that’s dubious at best; at a certain point in the scene, Bobby’s brain had turned completely off.  (He half-remembers Junhwe spanking him over his knee, and he’s half-sure he’d invented that memory.)  Nonetheless, he’d done his best to relay his experience as clearly and closely as he could, and Hanbin had listened eagerly, excited.

 

The hardest part for Bobby had been admitting shamefacedly that Junhwe had made him come.  

 

Hanbin sits up in bed, astounded, looking down at Bobby with incredulity written comically on his features.  Bobby braces himself for the explosion of jealousy he can almost smell in the air, but Hanbin merely stares down at him, the seconds ticking by, Bobby’s cheeks warming with something not unlike shame.  He stares at Hanbin’s cheek, unable to meet his gaze, not wanting to see the accusation and hurt he’s sure are stirring in the depths of his eyes.

 

“He made you _come_?” Hanbin repeats in disbelief.

 

Bobby rubs his forehead guiltily, the urge to defend himself overwhelming, twisting his stomach up tight.  “Not like you’d think,” Bobby says, abashed.  “I don’t know how it happened.”

 

“What happened?” Hanbin says, and Bobby isn’t sure if he sounds forbidding or if he’s imagining it.

 

“It wasn’t…nothing _happened_ , honestly, he just…I was really overwhelmed, and he was _stepping_ on me…” Bobby makes an awkward gesture with his palm toward his crotch, “…it was so weird.  I didn’t even know I came until afterward, honestly, it hurt like hell.”

 

To Bobby’s astonishment, Hanbin lets out a bark of laughter.  “He stepped on your dick and you got off?  How the fuck does that even happen?” He says in amazement, but there’s no coldness or anger in his voice, and Bobby thinks it’s safe to look at him again.

 

Bobby shrugs, still embarrassed.  Hanbin lapses into thoughtful silence, still smiling as he lies back down in bed and stares up at the ceiling, mulling this over with a curiosity that doesn’t take long to turn hungry, almost desperate.

 

He’s even more disappointed now, after Bobby’s incredible story, that he hadn’t been able to watch, though he doesn’t resent Junhwe’s reasoning.  But if Junhwe can take Bobby—solid, dependable, _dominant_ Bobby—and break him down so effectively, turn him into the puddle he had, then what could he do with Hanbin’s own submission?

 

It’s a question that makes heat rise to the surface of his skin, a sheen of sweat breaking out on his forehead even without an answer.  Bobby, preoccupied with his own embarrassment, notices nothing of the subtle, eager lurch of arousal low in Hanbin’s belly, sending a reciprocating tremor through the rest of his body as if too eager to wait—a deafening question ringing in his ears, waiting for an unspoken answer.

 

“Sounds like it was a good time.” Hanbin says carefully.

 

“It really was.” Bobby says, nuzzling into Hanbin’s shoulder with relief, and Hanbin lies very still next to him, his heart thumping with guilty desire.

 

 

*

 

 

“What are you up to tonight, Junhwe?” Hanbin says lazily without looking up from his books, “Jiwon and I were talking about going down to the Cherry Pit.”

 

“You guys like it there, huh?” Junhwe says lazily.  “I was thinking about it too.  I’ll go with you guys, if you’re inviting.”

 

“Yeah.” Hanbin says, turning a page and then flipping his book closed with a loud _thump_.  “I mean, we keep talking about going to see a demo, and ending up not actually seeing one.”

  
“Yeah, and we should both go, because Hanbin isn’t allowed to go out drinking unsupervised.” Bobby interjects from behind a tottering pile of laundry balanced in both arms.

 

“Hey!”

 

“Why’s that?” Junhwe says, raising an eyebrow in amusement.  Bobby deposits the laundry unceremoniously into the washing machine, chuckling to himself.

 

“Because he’s got absolutely no sense when he’s been drinking, and _someone_ has to help him remember how to get home.” He says with relish, to a fit of silly giggles from Junhwe.

 

“That’s not true!” Hanbin protests with a laugh.

 

“Hanbin, last time we went out drinking and you got separated from me, you sat on Seungyoon’s lap thinking he was me.  We don’t even _look_ alike.”

 

“It was dark!” Hanbin protests again.

 

“Hanbin, you did it _twice_.” Bobby says, and Junhwe’s laughter redoubles.  Hanbin folds his arms, poking out his lower lip, but he can’t maintain the severity of his expression with the silliness of Junhwe’s giggles in the background, and he laughs too.

 

“A leash would fix that problem.” Junhwe says unthinkingly. Hanbin flushes, but Bobby only laughs. _Next time you feel like saying something, rise above it, Junhwe._

 

An hour later, Hanbin and Bobby are all bundled up and ready to go, uncomfortably warm and sweating in their heavy winter layers, for their mild, cool October had stumbled abruptly into a wickedly chilly November.  Hanbin clicks his tongue impatiently as Junhwe laces up his glossy boots, but Junhwe takes no heed.

 

It amuses Junhwe to see how much Bobby and Hanbin seem to mirror one another in strange ways.  Hanbin’s leather jacket and beanie pulled low over his ears, not to mention the scowl on his face as he braces for the cold, make him look like the musician Bobby usually embodies.  Bobby’s handsome wool peacoat, on the other hand, makes him look like the smart accountant this time.  It’s like looking at swapped outfits on paper dolls.  

 

The moment they step into the stairwell, the cold strikes at them like a hammer, seeking out all the gaps in their clothing.  Bobby lets out a little sound of shock, pulling his hood up instantly; Hanbin hisses at the chill, too, his breath leaving him in a long, thin cloud of steam that dissipates quickly in the still air.  It’s a shocking change from just the week before, when the weather had been calm and very nearly warm on several pleasant occasions.

 

They’re only in the cold for a few minutes, but it’s with intense relief that they hurry down the steps into the warm, brightly-lit train station, with only a handful of tired-looking people waiting on the platform below.  Junhwe hopes they don’t intend to stay out too late, because walking home after midnight in this cold would be far more punishing than anything he could dream up. Hanbin breathes a little shivering sigh of relief at the delicious warmth seeping into his skin, watching Junhwe out of the corner of his eye as Junhwe clutches his scarf around his neck more firmly, his cheeks and lips flushed pink in the heat.

 

The train arrives at long last, or so it seems, and the three of them settle into the mostly-empty car, sharing it only with two elderly people at the far end of the cabin and one solitary lady directly across from them who keeps casting interested looks at Junhwe over her book when she thinks he’s not looking.  Junhwe prefers to stand, swaying and clinging calmly to the handloop against the judder and rumble of the train, if only to give _himself_ some breathing room.

 

Because he can’t stop himself looking at Hanbin every so often, at the heartbreakingly soft curve of his lips in a smile that makes Junhwe’s heart skip, and at the way he laughs and bats Bobby’s hands away playfully.  Once or twice he even catches himself staring at Hanbin outright, and jerks his attention away to look resolutely at his own reflection in the window, or out at the cold darkness of the city studded here and there with bleak orange light or the distant glitter of traffic signals like Christmas decorations—first red, then green.

 

Bobby’s quiet, distracted when Hanbin goes silent, his eyes fixed unthinkingly on Junhwe’s belt loop, fingers entwined with Hanbin’s inside Bobby’s coat pocket to keep their hands warm.

 

He’d caught Junhwe’s eye as they boarded the train, trading brief, measuring glances with one another.  Junhwe’s dark eyes are ringed with his usual kohl, and to Bobby it’s like looking down an endless black hole, like the tiny, panicky little pull at the insides that makes him sway and lurch fearfully at the top of a precipice.  But what makes him more compelling and alluring than ever is the eyeliner, spiking his intense gaze with a smoldering, hypnotizing force that’s got Bobby feeling uncomfortably warm again in the heated train car.

 

Because it reminds him of nothing so much as the look Junhwe had worn before, when the sharp-edged immediacy of his half-lidded eyes had been enough to pin Bobby against the bedroom door.  It’s a look that even the _memory_ of makes Bobby’s blood run hot, then cold, then hot again in a deep, visceral response he can’t seem to control.  He just wishes he could tell if Junhwe thinks the same thing.

 

But if Bobby were anywhere near as perceptive as he thinks he is, he might’ve seen the growing discontent in Junhwe, too.  The way his eyes linger on Bobby just a little longer across the table—or how he occasionally lets Bobby sit perhaps a little closer than he usually would—betrays the traces of the tension they’d stirred up between them, traces of intoxicating curiosity like scent in the air.

 

Junhwe had had his turn with Bobby, but there’s more to the puzzle, and Junhwe can’t stand to see something go unfinished.

 

And once again, shockingly far from inciting jealousy as Junhwe had predicted all that time ago, the same idea that had kept Hanbin awake at night has taken hold of Bobby’s imagination, active and insistent and strangely pressing.  It’s a funny little fantasy about Hanbin limp and soft and pliant with submissive pleasure, and Junhwe towering over him while Bobby watches.

 

And so the train rumbles on, and Junhwe, Bobby and Hanbin dodge one another’s eyes, each of their thoughts drawing glowing lines between the other two, and none of them aware of their own feature in the others’ mind.

 

The cold snaps viciously at their faces again as they crest the top of the stairs out of the warm train station, and they huddle into their jackets to brave the final walk.  It isn’t far, thankfully, but they pull their collars or scarves up as one, eyes narrowed against the searing chill. The familiar red light of the Cherry Pit sign spills over the cobbled pavement of the alleyway less than a block’s walk, and the alcove of the inset door is so deep they can barely see the handle in the gloom.  Junhwe gropes in the darkness for a moment before pulling the door open for them, and Hanbin leads the way in.

 

Red velvet drapes and the friendly, star-studded low light of the anteroom greet them as always, and Hanbin breathes a little sigh of relief at the warmer air against his reddened ears and stinging cheeks.  The bouncer manning the door isn’t a familiar face, but he checks Junhwe against the guest list and waves them through with a bored expression on his face.

 

Donghyuk is on the upper landing, chatting to a bar patron with his back to the stairs, and Junhwe puts a finger to his lips, indicating to Bobby and Hanbin not to alert Donghyuk to their presence. Hanbin smothers a cackle behind a cupped hand, and Bobby waves a hand to urge him on.

 

Junhwe tiptoes up the stairs, moving slowly so as not to catch Donghyuk’s attention, though there’s really no need—it’s loud enough not to give him away by sound, and Donghyuk’s deep in conversation with his friend. Junhwe ducks his head, puts his finger to his lips to the stranger, and and grabs Donghyuk’s ass with sudden force.

 

Donghyuk gives a shriek of excited terror, whipping around and covering his butt with both hands as if he expects it to escape.  Hanbin brings up the rear, doubled over with laughter, and so is the stranger Donghyuk had been talking to before Junhwe interrupted.

 

“Junhwe!  You scared me!” Donghyuk says admonishingly.

 

“That’s the idea.” Junhwe says with one arched eyebrow.  

 

Donghyuk blows out a long breath of irritation and amusement, apparently unsure as to which he should be.  “Jerk.”  Then he catches sight of Hanbin, lighting up at once and seizing him to kiss him forcibly on both cheeks.  Hanbin giggles, blushing, and Bobby can’t help but grin too.  “I feel spoiled, I got to see you all three separate times in like, a month.”

 

“We just can’t stay away.” Bobby says, allowing Donghyuk to kiss him on the cheek as well.

 

“I should hope not.  I’m the best thing in your life and we all know it.” Donghyuk teases, pinching Bobby’s cheek. Bobby pushes him away, grinning.

 

Junhwe, for the first time in weeks, is distracted from Hanbin by Donghyuk’s friend: A tall, lanky blonde sort with a razor-sharp smile and dark eyes.

 

His narrow gaze is full of interest that Junhwe can’t help but warm to. “Hi there. I haven’t seen you before.” The stranger says with the slightest subtle emphasis on _you_. He offers a delicate hand as if to shake, his wide slash of a smile widening further.  He’s fox-faced, clever-looking, his voice low and suggestive and relentlessly sexual. “My name is V.”

 

“June.”  Junhwe says, smiling wider.  He knows an open invitation when he sees one, and truth be told, it’s something of a relief to be distracted from the constant ache of Hanbin’s presence.  He takes the hand extended to him and, bowing his head, brings it up to kiss the back of it, his gaze never once leaving the other man’s.  The formalities are important, and Junhwe can tell at once that he’s dealing with someone experienced.

 

“Oh, so you’re the one Donghyuk told me about. Somehow I pictured you…differently.”

 

“Oh, boy.” Junhwe says, blowing out a breath.  “And seeing as it’s Donghyuk, he probably told you all of the good and most of the bad, I’ll bet. What part of me doesn’t live up to your expectations?”

 

“I thought you’d be _less_ sexy.”

 

“Flattery will get you nowhere. I insist on worship.” Junhwe smirks.

 

“More importantly than the good or bad, he said you were in the market for a new client.”

 

“He would say that, wouldn’t he? Anyway…I might be.” Junhwe says, licking his lips briefly, unable to keep the smile off them.

 

“How about a pet?”

 

V’s smile grows wider, and he reaches up to unbutton the neck of his shirt, showing Junhwe the black studded collar buckled around his neck as if in a striptease.  Junhwe reaches out thoughtfully, and if V minds, he certainly doesn’t show it; he tips his head back a little as Junhwe hooks his index finger through the ring at the front.  He tugs on it very lightly, just enough for V to feel it. He can sense V’s interest, which is as palpable as heat, and he can’t help but respond to it.  

 

“You’re showing me your collar.  Are you lost, little one?  Or are you looking for your Master?”

 

It’s as if the rest of the club disappears right then and there.  V has eyes only for Junhwe, and Junhwe, deeply distracted, allows his eyes to trace the finely-drawn lines of V’s features, all delicate, acute angles like the glitter of the sharpest edge of a knife. Junhwe permits himself to appreciate the naked greed in V’s expression, flattered and encouraged by the interest.

 

“Come on, don’t you want to take me for a walk?” V purrs coquettishly, sending a shiver coursing down Junhwe’s neck.  His deep voice seems to drag something dark and monstrous up out of Junhwe’s soul, like a demon standing by to possess him, and not for the first time in his life, Junhwe wonders what a voice that low and husky sounds like twisted up into a moan.

 

“Are you housebroken?” Junhwe says, pulling V in close by the loop on his collar, and V takes an obedient step forward, his head tilting back a little further to look up with half-lidded eyes.

 

“Housebroken and obedient.  I even fetch.”

 

Hanbin’s talking to Donghyuk when he catches the motion of Junhwe’s hand at the edge of his vision, sees Junhwe tug the pretty stranger forward a step, thumb braced on his chin.  A wash of bitter sickness floods him, settling thick and hard against his diaphragm like a stone dropping into his heart.  He hardly notices Bobby next to him, scowling as if he too has a stomachache.  

 

Junhwe suddenly comes back to Earth at the sound of Donghyuk’s clear laughter carrying across the space between himself and Bobby and Hanbin. With a little wash of shame and embarrassment, he remembers them waiting there, probably being tortured by another of Donghyuk’s embarrassing stories. He’s really going to have to have a talk with that man about shutting the fuck up.

 

But he’s still distracted, with V’s expression so black, so deep and hot he feels like he could burn in it. He’s got to rescue Bobby and Hanbin, but god, he could just—

 

And in spite of the urgent quickening of his pulse, he lets go of V’s collar very reluctantly.

 

“I can’t take you home with me tonight, kitten.” Junhwe says, though he’s careful to control the regret in his expression. V pouts, looking disappointed, but rallies almost at once.  “But take down my number.  You can call me tomorrow, and we’ll talk about…arrangements.”

 

V’s pout grows even more emphatic, his eyes going at once from narrow and intense to a big, soft kitten gaze, and Junhwe smothers a little laugh.  He shakes his head firmly, and V fishes in his pocket for his phone before handing it over to Junhwe, who punches in his number and hands it back.

 

“I gotta go. Be a good boy for me, V.” Junhwe prompts, nudging V’s chin encouragingly with his index finger, a gentle, subtly possessive touch that makes V’s smile break out all over his face again.

 

“Yes, sir.”  V wiggles his fingers in farewell, and Junhwe smirks before turning away resolutely. Hanbin and Bobby are going to be the death of him, one way or another.

 

He needs a drink.

 

 

*

 

 

“So have you guys fucked Junhwe yet?” Donghyuk says baldly, making Hanbin’s head snap around, Bobby’s eyebrows leaping halfway up his forehead in shock.

 

“Excuse me?” Hanbin sputters.  “No!”

 

Donghyuk tips them both a huge, unsubtle wink, taking another noisy sip of his drink.  “You two are so cute, all embarrassed and stuff.  If you’re not banging him, _please_ at least tell me he’s teaching you Dom stuff, Jiwon.”

 

“Yeah, at least he’s been doing that.” Bobby says, seizing onto the topic change with relief, face still burning with shock.  “He taught me some rope work, that was pretty cool.”

 

“He’s awesome, right?” Donghyuk says cheerfully.  “But seriously, even if you _don’t_ fuck him, you should at least have him join.  Have him do a client session with you.  He’s the fucking best, though you didn’t need me to tell you that, did you?”

 

Bobby suddenly glances at Hanbin, overt shock on his face once more; it had been such a quiet, distant fantasy, something Bobby had considered only in the deepest reaches of nighttime musings, when the quiet and darkness seemed to unfold into darker, quieter fantasies.  To hear this secret idea spoken aloud, to have it torn from the back of his mind and dragged out into the open, is as startling and unwelcome as the sudden crash of glass in silence.

 

Junhwe, ever the inadvertent opportunist, chooses that ill-timed moment to appear at Donghyuk’s side, drink in hand. He scents the tension in Bobby and Hanbin at once, which is thick enough to tie up; both of them are staring at Donghyuk in abject disbelief. Donghyuk is humming to himself, apparently unaware of the devastation his little bombshell had just hatched.

 

“Uh, what’s up?” Junhwe ventures cautiously, jolting Hanbin out of his blank trance. Bobby glances at Junhwe in surprise.  

 

Junhwe lets out a long sigh, cutting a squinting glare across at Donghyuk.  “Oh god, Donghyuk, what did you say _now_?”

 

“Don’t know what you mean.” Donghyuk chirrups, winking, and Junhwe rubs his eyes in dismay.

 

“Would you quit terrorizing them?  They’re not like you, you weirdo.” Junhwe says, pushing him good-naturedly, and Donghyuk stumbles a little, clinging to Junhwe’s arm and giggling.

 

“I’m just trying to give you three the hookup, since none of you seem to want to do it yourself, and it’s not exactly a secret how much you want to fuck that hot little sub right there.” Donghyuk says, hand cupped into Junhwe’s ear and apparently under the impression that he’s being conspiratorial, all hot breath and alcohol vapor.  Junhwe shakes him off, scowling, his stomach flooding with icy fear, and he drags Donghyuk by the upper arm a few steps away from Bobby and Hanbin, so as to afford them a little privacy.

 

“I’d rather you not destroy my living arrangements that quickly, Dong.  I’m doing that just fucking fine on my own.” Junhwe says in a fierce undertone.  “Just let me handle it, okay?”

 

Bobby looks sidelong at Hanbin again, gnawing on his lip, and then he takes Hanbin’s hand, leading him away from Junhwe and Donghyuk, who are beginning to squabble outright. It isn’t hard to see Junhwe’s slowly rising fury, at odds with Donghyuk’s teasing posture, sticking out his tongue and goading Junhwe ever further.

 

“For fuck’s sake, would you—would you just shut the fuck up, Dong. Stop bothering them, and leave me alone about Hanbin!” Junhwe snarls, nettled beyond endurance.

 

“Or else what?” Donghyuk hums, fluttering his eyelashes in retort.  “Why don’t you just spank me right here and get it over with?”

 

Junhwe’s anger suddenly breaks, and he feels anger pulse once in his temples before draining away like the sudden easing of intense pain.  “Because I’m not about to go screw myself out of two friends and a living arrangement just because I feel like getting laid.”

 

“Liar.” Donghyuk spits, his expression both amused and sour.  “If they asked, you’d say yes before they even finished talking.”

 

“They won’t.” Junhwe says with glacial certainty, though a second, responding chill goes through him as he says it.

 

Bobby buys himself and Hanbin a drink, still watching Junhwe out of the corner of his eye.  Donghyuk’s blonde hair catches the blacklight hanging low over the top of the stairs, glowing like neon, and Junhwe’s just visible beside him, his own white shirt glowing a deep, intense purple.

 

“I wonder what they’re fighting about.” Hanbin says idly, sitting down next to Bobby on the soft red velvet couch, his eyes on the stage but his attention cast the other way like a fishhook on a line, snagged on Junhwe’s agitation.

 

“Probably Donghyuk’s fat mouth. I’ve never met someone who gossips like he does.” Bobby says, setting Hanbin’s drink on the table, and Hanbin mumbles a thank you before swigging down half of it as if to drown the tight, unfamiliar knot in the pit of Hanbin’s stomach. “I mean, I think he thinks he’s being helpful, but that really…” His sentence trails off into nothingness, and Hanbin doesn’t press him, so he merely takes a drink instead of finishing.

 

“Isn’t he Yunhyeong’s boyfriend?” Hanbin says after a minute of thoughtful, stiff silence.

 

“Yeah.  Husband, actually.” Bobby says.  

 

That has Hanbin sitting up straight, staring at Donghyuk directly, and then Hanbin looks at Bobby curiously too.  “So how the fuck would _he_ know how _good_ Junhwe is?”

 

It’s not a particularly pointed question; Hanbin’s brand of dry sarcasm is audible from space, and Bobby can tell he isn’t asking for the purpose of obtaining an answer; he’s merely expressing his disbelief, unable to decide how to feel about this information.  Bobby finds himself growing warm again, embarrassed by Hanbin’s scrutinizing stare and the touchiness of the subject, not to mention the awkward reaction it stirs up inside him. He shrugs to avoid answering.

 

“I mean, do you think they’re exes or something?” Hanbin says, apparently unable to resist asking the question at last, the words dropping into Bobby’s mind like stones into water.

 

“I think they’re just…open.” Bobby says, taking a drink and spilling vodka down his front.

 

“ _Open_?” Hanbin repeats.

 

“Yeah.  Uh, I mean…a couple weeks ago when we came here, just he and I—I’m…well, I’m pretty sure Junhwe fucked Yunhyeong in his office.”

 

“He—wait, he did _what_?”

 

“That’s just what Donghyuk told me.” Bobby says, a touch defensively.  The hard knot in Hanbin’s stomach turns to ice.

 

“ _Donghyuk_ told you that?” Hanbin says sharply.  Bobby takes another drink without replying, his hand shaking slightly, wishing he hadn’t brought it up.  “How the fuck does that even work?”

 

“I don’t know.” Bobby says.  “I asked the same question, but literally nobody could give me a straight answer.  Come to that, nobody could give me a fuckin’ gay one, either.”

 

Hanbin finally laughs at that, and Bobby relaxes a little as Hanbin’s attention refocuses on him, tension draining out of the moment as Hanbin turns to him instead.  He leans across to kiss Bobby, tasting of whiskey, the scent of him as heady and intoxicating as ether.  Bobby’s hand finds Hanbin’s hair, stroking it back off his face, forgetting that they’re in a fairly public setting, albeit an entirely forgiving one.  It’s only when Hanbin gropes Bobby through his slacks that Bobby pushes Hanbin away gently, seizing Hanbin’s wrist to force it behind his back.  

 

“Don’t be naughty in public, Hanbin.” Bobby chides playfully.  

 

Hanbin grins, a little breathless laugh on his swollen lips.  “God, I can’t be good _all_ the time.” He says, eyes narrowed.

 

“I didn’t know you were an exhibitionist.  Must be Junhwe’s influence rubbing off on you.” Bobby says, fisting a hand slowly in the collar of Hanbin’s shirt.

 

Hanbin goes still in an instant, sitting back up ramrod-straight as if Bobby had spanked him by surprise. The ice in his belly suddenly floods his body as he’s reminded, not of Junhwe, but of the handsome little sub Junhwe had been talking to earlier, remembering Junhwe playing suggestively with the loop on his collar, tugging him closer as if to kiss him.

 

And it hits him all at once, like a thunderbolt, that the cold rush is _jealousy_ , that he wants Junhwe to pull on _his_ collar, that what he wants is for Bobby to kick him down onto his knees in front of Junhwe.  

 

All of that had taken less than a second, and he swallows back the responding rush of hot, queasy guilt. Bobby, blinking out of his haze, looks up at Hanbin with furrowed brows, curious, concerned.  “What is it?”

 

Hanbin’s jaw’s somehow locked in place, and he swallows, gulps, can’t speak at all.  He flounders, shocked as much as horrified by this sudden onrush of unexpected urges.  “Hanbin?”

 

Hanbin finally comes back to himself, shaking his head, and he rubs his face in stunned dismay.  “Nothing.” He says unconvincingly.  “It’s alright.  I just…was thinking.”

 

“About what?” Bobby pries.

 

“Uh.” Hanbin says, gnawing on his lip, his stomach giving an angry roll as he sorts through words as if choosing apples from a pile, his hand finding its place across his chest to beat nervously against his collarbone.  Bobby might be angry about this, but Hanbin’s pretty sure he can explain it away. He’s got to try, anyway, and if he doesn’t ask, he’ll always wonder.  

 

“How do you…after what Donghyuk said, how _do_ you feel about maybe, you know, doing another scene with Junhwe?  I mean, all three of us.”

 

Hanbin’s so strained he’s almost trembling, and yet at his shy question, Bobby feels a sudden wash of relief that knocks the tension out of his body so completely that he almost melts into the seat.  It’s a marvel to him that he and Hanbin are on such a specific wavelength, that in spite of their fear, once again they find themselves on the same thought paths, the same curiosities.

 

“You want to?” Bobby says, licking his lips.

 

“Not a threesome,” Hanbin says hastily, “just, I don’t know, you seemed to really like it, and…”

 

Bobby grins, almost laughing out loud with relief and excitement, and he pulls Hanbin close again, this time with a hand slipped around the back of his neck to hold him tenderly.  “You know I can’t say no to you. As long as he says yes, then I say yes.”

 

 

*

 

 

“I owe you guys an apology.” Junhwe says, his voice muffled behind his scarf as they prepare to venture out into the chilly wintry air.  Hanbin casts Junhwe a wary glance, and Junhwe fancies there’s something guarded about his gaze, though he can’t be sure if it’s true distance or merely wishful thinking. It would be so much easier if Hanbin would stop seeming so interested in him, if Junhwe could forget about it, but every shared glance is like a heady hit of cocaine to his overworked heart.

 

“For what?” Bobby says, blinking in surprise, stepping out onto the sidewalk and shivering at once.  The moon is high on the horizon now, brushing its silvery light over everything not already stained with the pastel orange of the streetlights, glinting off the loose strands of Hanbin’s hair and outlining Bobby’s silhouette in the thinnest silver sheen.

 

“I keep bringing you here and then going off on my own.  Even if I was working, it’s not really a good excuse, and I haven’t been a very good friend in that regard.” Junhwe says unhappily.  “I’m sorry.”

 

“That _was_ a pretty serious fight you were having with Donghyuk.”

 

“No, that was me being a dick.” Junhwe says, jamming his hands into his pockets moodily.  “Donghyuk has a big fat fucking mouth, but that doesn’t make it my job to respond to it…”

 

“Well, if you were really that bothered, you _did_ promise to make it up to us.” Bobby says, grinning, breath streaming out in a great silver plume from his lips.  To Junhwe’s surprise, Hanbin smiles at this too.

 

“Yeah, I did.” Junhwe says, his heart racing again, this time from eagerness instead of panic.  “What do you want?”

 

Bobby shares one last secretive little smile with Hanbin, and when he speaks next, his tone leaves Junhwe in no doubt as to what he wants.  

 

“Let’s make a deal.”

 


	15. Chapter 15: Gravity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday SlimeQueen!! ❤️

It happens like this, in which Junhwe makes his second fatal mistake.

 

With Junhwe displaying his usual knack for shameless professionalism, and Bobby his own for shamelessness, period, they’d begun negotiations on the walk home from the club, Hanbin listening eagerly to Bobby and Junhwe but seldom interjecting.  

 

It’s a curious thing to hand one’s boundaries to someone else with the trust that they will respect them, a game that can end in heartbreak or exhilaration at any given point.  It’s another thing entirely to permit them to be handed off a second time, like some perverse baton pass, trusting not only in a partner but in the translation of those boundaries through a filter.

 

Their discussion, as it were, had been open and fearless, lacking even a trace of the awkwardness they’d anticipated, but that might be attributed to Junhwe’s steady tone and posture, as if they’re talking about weather, or negotiating a contract—but then, Hanbin supposes, this _is_ business for Junhwe, too.  Mostly.  Junhwe’s calm demeanor puts them at ease, and that, in turn, brings out all kinds of stunning honesty.

 

What they can’t see is how this discussion is making Junhwe sweat inside his jacket, even while his cheeks and eyes sting with cold, and it’s an effort to keep his voice stable.  He takes a deep breath anyway, the chilly air jabbing hard at the base of his lungs so that each breath comes sharp in his ribs, desperately hard-pressed to resist what he can sense waiting for him in Hanbin’s curious gaze.

 

The next afternoon, Bobby and Junhwe had shut themselves away in Junhwe’s room without Hanbin to plan their scene.  Hanbin had lingered outside the closed door curiously, hearing the sound of their voices but unable to make out anything specific, even pressing his ear to the door only to slink away, disappointed. Bobby senses his presence and shoos him away none the wiser for the (no doubt sadistic) plans being built around himself.

 

Nor is he any the wiser now, kneeling tense and wary and obedient at the foot of his and Bobby’s bed, hands folded in his lap.  His eyes are open and glazed, fixed on the floor, the lines of his body tense with strained patience and anxiety in spite of the instructions he’d been given. He knows what to do, but the waiting is agony.

 

It hadn’t taken much to get him hard, not with the anticipation running so high and hot in the room that Hanbin feels almost feverish.  The plug Bobby had slipped inside him a few minutes prior is certainly not doing his arousal any detriment, either.  He shifts uncomfortably, still fully clothed, his underwear oddly tight and the seat of his jeans chafing his newly-sensitive skin where Bobby had spanked him a half-dozen times just for good measure.  All told, Hanbin’s impatient to be naked, almost too uncomfortable to be self-conscious about it.

 

Bobby’s sitting in the chair they’d dragged in from Junhwe’s room, the wood creaking slightly when he moves; he’s got one ankle hooked over the opposite knee, and he might’ve looked relaxed but for the veins in his pale hands standing out like carved marble, betraying his nervousness and excitement.  Equally as impatient as Hanbin, Bobby isn’t sure what to expect just yet, for all their discussion and choreography.  

 

He hadn’t really appreciated how much preparation and practice had gone into Junhwe’s art before now, how much time and effort Junhwe had spent honing his abilities, and Bobby’s nerves are as much based in self-consciousness as excitement; what if Junhwe laughs at Bobby outright, like a cruel parent mocking a child?

 

In spite of all the preparation, neither of them are entirely sure what to expect from Junhwe.  A small, comical part of Hanbin is anticipating the whole leather getup, some kind of theatrics, a costume.

 

But Junhwe, when he finally steps into the room, is dressed only in a plain, snow-white collared shirt, the sleeves rolled and pushed up over his elbows, the bottom tucked into his black jeans.  His intense dark eyes are rimmed with his usual black, and the effect is devastating:  Hanbin can look at nothing else, overwhelmed almost at once by the force of his gaze, at Junhwe’s posture and savage elegance reminding him of nothing so much as a venomous snake.

 

Bobby makes himself relax, though he feels so far from calm that he’s closer to panic.  The door closes itself behind Junhwe, giving Hanbin the sudden impression of the tiger locking its own cage door. Then he looks down at Hanbin with a feral eagerness that shows up all too clearly even in the dim light.

 

He says nothing, merely taking a few slow, deliberate steps forward until Hanbin’s eye level with Junhwe’s crotch.  Hanbin swallows thickly, his neck craning back to look up.

 

Junhwe feels his blood pulse at the helpless anticipation he sees in Hanbin’s eyes as he leans down slightly to stroke one hand up Hanbin’s neck in one slow motion, from his collarbones to his jaw, thumb brushing across Hanbin’s lower lip just as he’d done on stage once.  It seems light-years away right now, but that could just be the atmosphere, welling up as thick and vivid as blood.

 

Then, his fingers grip Hanbin’s jaw to turn him from side to side, inspecting him impersonally through half-lidded eyes.  It’s a touch that makes Hanbin’s next breath tremble, and Junhwe smiles down at him.

 

“Clothes off.”

 

Junhwe’s low voice makes Hanbin flinch, having expected something much more sudden, but Junhwe merely releases his hold on Hanbin’s jaw with a lingering, ticklish brush of fingertips drawn along the line of his cheek before he moves past Hanbin and entirely out of his line of sight, joining Bobby behind him.

 

“Any reason you wanted him facing away?” Junhwe murmurs.

 

“You’ll see.” Bobby replies huskily.

 

Hanbin scrambles to obey, tugging his shirt over the top of his head, hair in disarray as he hastily folds it on the rug in front of him. His heart is already racing with a powerful dose of mixed panic and arousal.  He can’t see either of them, but the feeling of their combined gaze on Hanbin’s bare skin leaves traces as evident as fingernail marks.

 

Hanbin starts on his jeans, flushing with embarrassment as he unzips the fly, though he recalls with painful ease what Junhwe had told him before:  It’s easier when he can’t see them watching him so intently, with Junhwe’s eyes raking across his skin as it comes into view inch by soft inch, Bobby’s secretive little smirk. This is much harder.

 

The clatter of Hanbin’s belt seems loud in the otherwise hot, tense silence.  He pushes his jeans down over his hips, his underwear staying on, though it’s impossible not to see the regular, squarish shape of the base of the plug through the stretchy fabric.  Realizing this, Hanbin blushes even deeper, swallowing hard.  As he rises onto his knees to shuffle out of his jeans, the plug shifts inside of him, and he whimpers almost without realizing it, eyes closed tight against a wash of shame.

 

There’s no warning when Junhwe’s boot finds his shoulder and pushes him down heavily onto hands and knees altogether, jeans bunched in a hobble around his thighs.  He hadn’t kicked Hanbin, had only pushed him lightly, but Hanbin’s nevertheless breathless with surprise as Junhwe braces a boot against his ass, the edge of the heel pressing against the base of the plug.  Hanbin whimpers again.

 

“Hmm, what’s this?” Junhwe murmurs, amused.  “You _did_ come prepared.  That’s interesting.”

 

Bobby, too, is just as breathless, watching everything from Junhwe’s expression to Hanbin’s reactions, content for now not to interfere too much.

 

“Finish undressing.” Junhwe commands, removing his boot, and Hanbin does, tears of humiliation and anger already beginning to gather in the corner of his eyes, blurring his vision.  But he does as he’s told, still facedown on the rug, pushing and wriggling and kicking until his jeans lie in a pile beside him, ass in the air, chest heaving.

 

Bobby and Junhwe had agreed on collaring Hanbin, and had ultimately decided that Junhwe should do it; Hanbin’s already used to Bobby’s authority, but Bobby had suspected he might not accept Junhwe’s without a little _incentive_.

 

The collar is little more than a strip of leather with a buckle at one end, longer in the front with a large metal o-ring at the bottom, weighty and solid and impossible to ignore or forget.  “Sit up.” Junhwe commands, and Hanbin pushes himself back up onto his knees, biting back yet another whimper of sensation as the plug jostles inside him a little.

 

Junhwe drops to one knee in front of Hanbin, and his expression softens slightly as he buckles the collar around Hanbin’s neck, their faces only inches apart.  The stark black leather settles into place around Hanbin’s long, graceful neck as if it was made for him.  And in a way, it had been.

 

Hanbin licks his lips, all the hairs on his body stirring upright in excitement and the chill of the metal ring. The curve of Junhwe’s mouth looks so soft from this close aspect, and he thinks he might like nothing better than for Junhwe to kiss him.

 

Junhwe’s feeling the same, too, his eyes skating over Hanbin’s flawless honey skin, his mouth watering with the urge to press his mouth to it, to kiss him, to wonder if he tastes as good as he looks.  This was a bad idea, but he can’t back out now.  He cups Hanbin’s chin again, almost tenderly this time, and then he straightens up, leaving Hanbin with nothing but a pounding heart to show for his greed.

 

“Perfect fit, isn’t it?” Junhwe says, tracing a light touch around the upper edge of the collar, checking the fit with a finger slipped beneath.  The softness of his hands makes Hanbin shiver, but Junhwe ignores that.  “It certainly _looks_ perfect.  Is it comfortable?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Before we start, I want you to tell me what you call Jiwon when you play alone.”

 

The gooseflesh on Hanbin’s forearms stands up more insistently, a chill spreading across his bare skin like ice. A little flicker of resistance flares up inside him at the thought of sharing Bobby’s title with Junhwe, but he whispers _hyung_ all the same. Junhwe smiles a little wider.

 

“And your safeword?”

 

“ _Airplane_.”

 

Junhwe reaches down from his great height, hooking a finger into the ring in the front of Hanbin’s collar, thumb pushing Hanbin’s chin up until he’s looking into Junhwe’s black-rimmed, intense eyes.  “You’ll call me _oppa_ for the rest of this session.  Do you understand?”

 

“Yes, oppa.” Hanbin mumbles.

 

“I want you to choose a number between one and ten.” Junhwe says silkily, releasing Hanbin’s collar.  Hanbin smirks, tongue flicking across his lips, the spark of his rebellion erupting into a low flame.  Bobby’s already earned Hanbin’s submission by virtue of long, deep-seated trust, and Junhwe must prove himself deserving of such a gift, must prove himself more than the unknown quantity he is just now.

 

“Eleven?” He offers, screwing up his face thoughtfully.  Junhwe laughs softly, and like Bobby, Hanbin recognizes it as not a sound of enjoyment, but a wholehearted threat.

 

“It would seem you and I have a wiseass to deal with today, Jiwon.” Junhwe says callously.

 

Bobby laughs too, the first noise he’s made since they’d begun, and the sound of his soft, rough voice makes Hanbin’s heart leap in his chest.  “You have no idea.”

 

“No matter.  Asses get spanked.” Junhwe says significantly.  “Eleven it is.”

 

Junhwe walks around Hanbin, suddenly bending low on his other side, and Hanbin starts as Junhwe seizes a handful of Hanbin’s hair in a firm grip, one meant to intimidate rather than hurt.  In his other hand is a leather flogger, the long strands swinging hypnotically back and forth when Junhwe shifts his weight a little.

 

“Open up.” Junhwe says.

 

Hanbin’s lips twist, and Junhwe’s hand slips from his hair down his cheek, nudging at his chin with one finger.  “I wasn’t asking, Hanbin.  Open your mouth.” He repeats, voice sharper this time, like a knife along a whetstone.

 

Hanbin turns his face away stubbornly, but Junhwe is more than equal to that; he slaps Hanbin sharply across the cheek, and Hanbin’s mouth falls open in a gasp of surprise and pain, anger rushing to his head and making his eyes water again.  Smiling at him with venomous sweetness, Junhwe pushes the handle of the flogger between Hanbin’s teeth.  “Hold this for me.  Don’t drop it, or I’ll be upset with you.  Understand?” He says pleasantly.

 

Hanbin nods in understanding if not agreement, his jaw tight around the leather handle as he struggles to control his temper.  The sting in his cheek is fading to a warm glow, his heartbeats stumbling over themselves in their hurry to beat his heart straight out of his chest.

 

But it had worked; Hanbin’s already feeling the pull of Junhwe’s power, drawing his poison and quenching his indignation in a drizzle of submissive docility.  Bobby’s presence at this point is almost an afterthought, a safety catch to ensure things don’t go too far, but Hanbin’s focused, stuck, sinking into Junhwe’s command like a bee drowning in honey.

 

Junhwe pushes him down onto his hands and knees again, and Hanbin pulls his knees in closer to his chest to hide himself. Junhwe prods him with the toe of his boot, and Hanbin shuffles obediently until he’s resting on elbows and knees, painfully embarrassed.  He covers his head with his hands, almost unable to face it.

 

“Ready?”

 

Hanbin makes a little sound, half-consent, half-acknowledgement, and Junhwe laughs.  

 

“You’d better be.”

 

The first swat of the whip leaves streaks of fire across Hanbin’s ass, even through the protective layer of his underwear.  Hanbin’s head snaps up in shock, back arching involuntarily, and he gasps around the handle of the flogger.

 

Junhwe hums with pleasure, bringing the whip down again a little harder, and Hanbin jerks, his gasp turning into a muffled whimper, veins standing out with strain on his neck.  His ass and thighs are on fire, in spite of Junhwe’s light hand, and Hanbin swears he can count the distinct stripes of heat lingering on his stinging skin from top to bottom.

 

Again and again, the whip falls across his thighs, his ass, and Hanbin can’t ever remember being so overwhelmed, can’t remember ever enjoying such exquisite pain.

 

But something’s happening to his brain, coming on so insidiously that he isn’t quite aware of it; a warm, thin mist stealing over his thoughts, like the point of early drunkenness in which it becomes an effort to focus one’s eyes.  The next swish of the whip slices across his thighs, and Hanbin can hear it coming, feels the lash of a hundred strands of leather.  Even though he jolts with pure reaction, his brain only registers a red-hot, wonderful glow of pleasure.

 

And this time, his whimper is a moan, his tense jaw finally loosening on the handle, though he remembers effortfully not to drop it.  His mouth is aching already and the set of his teeth weakening with exhaustion, but he still holds it grimly, his chin slicked with spit.

 

“How many was that, Hanbin?” Junhwe says, amused.  Hanbin blinks, Junhwe’s voice breaking through the haze like a shaft of sunlight, but his grip on reality has already slipped.  He hadn’t been counting, though he realizes now he probably should’ve been.  “You asked for eleven, so you got eleven, didn’t you?”

 

Hanbin makes a muffled noise of acknowledgement, but has nothing constructive to add. “You weren’t counting at all.” Junhwe says knowingly.  It isn’t a question, but Hanbin shakes his head in reply all the same.

 

“Keep count for oppa this time, won’t you?” Junhwe hums mockingly.

 

And the cycle begins all over again, except that Hanbin’s body doesn’t feel anything but heat, his head buzzing more furiously with each lash of the whip; he struggles to remain still, his brain only registering a feedback of mounting pleasure. His mouth aches insistently, teeth clamped into the soft leather, jaw all but seized, and his body is tense with the expectation of pain, but the way his arms stretch out in front of him to arch his back like a cat betrays his enjoyment, though he can’t remember doing it.

 

Junhwe steps over Hanbin’s body lying prone on the rug.  Hanbin shifts slightly, his whole body feeling not-quite-connected, and he turns his head to look up at Junhwe, dazed and drooling slightly.

 

Another hot swish-flick of the whip leaves traces of delicious pain across his ass, and Hanbin realizes with a sort of weary amazement that Junhwe hadn’t been the one wielding the whip the whole time.  “Getting tired?” He says, grinning.  Hanbin nods.

 

He pries the handle of the flogger from Hanbin’s exhausted mouth, the leather deeply marked by Hanbin’s teeth.  “Good boy, Hanbin.  Turn over, now.” Junhwe murmurs, his hands warm on Hanbin’s oversensitive skin as he eases him carefully over onto his back on the soft rug.

 

Hanbin pants, helpless, exhausted already, but they’re not done with him; Bobby is standing between Hanbin’s spread legs, looking down at him with upper lip lifted in the smallest snarl of arousal, his eyes slitted with amusement.  In his hands is a length of rope—silky, glossy red rope, _his_ rope.  A renewed rush of hot excitement fills Hanbin’s belly, heavy and delicious; Bobby kneels, straddling Hanbin’s hip, his own knee pushed into Hanbin’s crotch to rouse him to greater heights.  The pressure is incredible, his dick giving a powerful throb, Hanbin’s hips grinding almost imperceptibly into Bobby’s thigh.

 

Bobby ties the rope around Hanbin’s right wrist and lashes it to his ankle on the same side, pausing only briefly to lean over him and tease him with a kiss that doesn’t quite connect.  What with Junhwe so close at the beginning, and now Bobby’s teeth nipping at Hanbin’s swollen lower lip, panting breaths gusting against Bobby’s cheek, Hanbin feels about ready to explode.

 

And then Bobby sits up, the trailing ends of the rope in his hands, and he carefully threads it through the loop on Hanbin’s collar before tying Hanbin’s left wrist to his left ankle. It’s a devastating tie, and Hanbin dreads the already-growing ache in his midsection and the exhaustion sure to come with it.

 

Bobby scoots back on the carpet to admire his own handiwork, looking altogether too pleased with himself, and Junhwe leans over Hanbin too, smiling.  “Comfy?”

 

“N-No.”

 

“Aw, too bad.” Junhwe mocks, kneeling next to him and brushing Hanbin’s hair back out of his face, resting the other warm hand on the inside of Hanbin’s bare thigh, fingertips just high enough to make Hanbin flinch.  The touch is monstrously arousing, making his cock twitch and strain, and he struggles just a little, whining.  

 

“Hey, Jiwon.” Junhwe says, without looking away from Hanbin’s face.

 

“Mmm?”

 

“Nice ties.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

“Does this thing vibrate?” Junhwe says, finally looking back up at Bobby, who laughs low and raw in his throat.

 

“You bet it does.”

 

Junhwe licks his lips, hesitating for just a second, knowing he’s damning himself by asking but unable to resist.  “May I?”

 

Bobby looks at Hanbin and pauses for just a second, his gaze boring into Hanbin’s misty eyes.  Hanbin blinks, panting, and then Bobby smirks.

 

“Be my guest.”

 

Junhwe turns back with an expression of such intensity that Hanbin’s paralyzed with it, can barely breathe when Junhwe reaches between his legs, running fingers over the base of the plug until he finds what he’s looking for.  The pressure of his touch is intense, the fullness and presence of the plug inside him overwhelming; and furthermore, this isn’t Bobby, it’s Junhwe _touching him_ , touching him _there_ —

 

Hanbin finds his breath finally, lodged somewhere between his navel and his cock.  Because that’s where his next moan comes from, dragged straight up from his balls when the tiny switch gives way, and he goes instantly rigid with the intensity of the vibrations filling him.

 

The rope ties leave plenty of motion to squirm, but the attachment of wrist to ankle forces him to bend and twist from the core; it takes very little effort for exhaustion to set in once again, with Hanbin already having been so tired from being whipped.  He twitches, tosses his head from side to side in hysterical pleasure, his moans loud and helpless and eager, punctuated by the sound of Bobby’s laughter.

 

Bobby’s returned to his chair, seeing no need to participate in this self-fulfilling means to an end, and Junhwe’s perched across from him on the edge of the bed.  He catches Junhwe’s eye almost without meaning to, and for a moment that rings in the air like a bell chime, they see their own expression on the other’s face, bright-eyed, flushed, exhilarated, and both of them painfully hard.

 

“P-please…” Hanbin manages tremulously, his chest heaving, breaking into the moment.  Junhwe tears his eyes away from Bobby only reluctantly.

 

“Please what?” Junhwe hums, extending his leg; he turns Hanbin’s face to one side with the top of his boot, and Hanbin blinks up at him, narrow-eyed, red-faced, desperate.

 

“Please make it stop—oh, _god,_ I want to come, please—”

 

Junhwe smirks, looking up at Bobby.  “Jiwon?  What do you think?”

 

“I won’t stop you, Hanbin.” Bobby rasps, his mouth strangely dry.  “You can come whenever you want.”

 

“It’s—it’s too much, I c-cant—” Hanbin yelps, twitching sharply, tense and graceful and helpless against the ruthless pressure of the vibrator.

 

“If you can’t be quiet, we’ll have to gag you.” Bobby says, shocked at his own initiative; Junhwe regards Bobby approvingly with one arched black eyebrow, and Bobby grins, blushing inexplicably.  Junhwe laughs too.  Bobby will learn how to keep his persona together in time, but he finds himself liking how unguarded Bobby is, how sweetly he lets Junhwe’s approval break his Dominant posture.

 

Hanbin fights to stay in his own head, but the vibrations are shaking him loose from his body, dragging him down like a stone into the crushing, velvety depths of subspace, slow and graceful and gentle.

 

Junhwe forgets himself for a moment as well, watching Hanbin thrash, palming himself once through his jeans, his resultant exhale of shaky pleasure unmissed by Bobby from across the room; but then, Junhwe seems to recall himself, blinking back to lucidity, and he takes his hand away.  

 

Bobby swallows hard.  He’s not offended by this, not even bothered in the slightest.  He understands it all too well, and he’s too winded to feel much more than astonishment in watching Hanbin sink so fast and so deep.

 

Hanbin’s orgasm strikes like lightning, without warning or expectation, and then recedes like thunder, rolling over him in slow waves.  He strains and strains against his bonds, arching and begging wordlessly, blindly, breathlessly.

 

Bobby slides out of his chair and kneels next to Hanbin, hand slipping beneath the back of his neck, finding his hair damp with sweat and his skin glittering with a sheen of it, resultant of the heat of exertion and long, drawn-out arousal.  

 

Without warning, Hanbin bucks and jolts again, his protesting voice passionate and unrestrained as it’s torn from him in a second orgasm, brought on by the immediacy of Bobby’s touch.  Junhwe gets to his feet as well, kneeling by Hanbin on the other side.

 

“Should I turn off the vibe?” Bobby says curiously, glancing at Junhwe.

 

Junhwe smirks, reaching up to brush the back of his hand across Hanbin’s cheek.  Hanbin’s eyes fly open, and he looks in panic between the two of them, his face red and suffused with heat.

 

“Nah, give him another one, just because he’s such a good boy.” Junhwe purrs ruthlessly, smiling at Hanbin before looking up to meet Bobby’s eyes.  A responding rush of heat pours through Bobby in a new and unforgettable way; it’s like Junhwe’s suddenly taught him a new way to be turned on, his blood pounding in his ears.

 

Hanbin has no idea how long the last one takes, tormented, exhausted, so breathless his head is swimming.  This final orgasm seems to roll over him slowly, squeezing every last ounce of breath from him in a feeble wail of pleasure.

 

There’s a commotion somewhere beside him, and then with a rush of glorious reprieve, the vibrations finally cease. Hanbin sags at once, sobbing with relief even before Bobby starts on the knots of his rope, his body riding such an intense high that his brain is left far, far behind, his wild, half-formed thoughts melting and running together.

 

On the other side, Junhwe’s undoing Hanbin’s bindings too, and like he’d done with Bobby, he eases Hanbin’s legs down until he’s lying flat on the floor, still whimpering.  The red coils of the rope lie tense and tangled beneath Hanbin’s body, but Junhwe merely slips his hands beneath Hanbin’s knees, and between the two of them, Bobby and Junhwe lift Hanbin gently onto the bed.

 

“I’ll be back in a second.” Junhwe touches Bobby’s hand to get his attention, and Bobby glances up to see him slipping out the door and closing it quietly behind him, unnoticed by Hanbin.

 

Bobby perches on the edge of the bed, stroking Hanbin’s wrists where the rope lines still linger, massaging feeling back into his hands.  “Babe, can you hear me?”

 

Hanbin sniffles, still trembling with weakness.  He whimpers out a tiny _yes_ , barely more than a grunt, and Bobby leans down to kiss his face, feeling Hanbin’s eyelashes flutter against his cheek, his exhaustion so deep and profound that even his lips tremble.

 

Junhwe returns a few minutes later with a warm, damp towel that he uses to mop Hanbin’s face gently, then down his neck where he unfastens Hanbin’s collar and lays it with a clatter on the bedside table.  

 

By now the towel is cooling, refreshing on Hanbin’s hot skin, the change of temperature beginning to bring him back to himself in a slow trickle.  He’s too muddled to do much more than protest vaguely and allow them to fuss over him. Even if he wanted to fuss, it wouldn’t make much sense; this feels unbelievably good, two pairs of warm hands on his body, the soft texture of the towel, and two soft voices washing over him with pretty, soothing words that leave no trace of meaning behind, only a deep and satisfied peace.

 

He’s too tired and absent even to be self-conscious when he feels hands peeling his underwear down his legs, nor at the slide of the plug leaving him feeling a little empty.  He’s barely aware of Bobby and Junhwe’s presence as it is, and only the discomfort of the stretch has any effect on him at all.

 

Junhwe feels himself flushing, however, embarrassed at Hanbin’s nakedness, though he can’t keep himself from looking greedily, his eyes finding the hideously tantalizing arch of the tattoo over Hanbin’s hipbone partially hidden by a splattered mess of cum; he hastily redirects his eyes instead to the scrawl of black letters written on Hanbin’s golden skin across his chest, all in English he can’t read.

 

He’s surprised by how cavalier Bobby’s being about Hanbin’s body, about how unconcerned he seems about Junhwe seeing Hanbin like this.  Then again, he supposes dryly, there probably isn’t much left to be ashamed of after he’s watched someone have three or four forced orgasms, regardless of their state of undress.  Nudity is by far of the least concern.

 

Bobby, unperturbed, crawls back onto the bed and takes the towel from Junhwe, now cool and damp, and wipes the mess from Hanbin’s hip; Hanbin jumps slightly, his breath hissing at the sudden cold sensation.  

 

Junhwe occupies himself brushing Hanbin’s sweaty hair off his flushed face, Hanbin’s hand lying limp and warm across Junhwe’s thigh.  He feels like his heart could burst, so full of tenderness and guilt weighing heavily in the pit of his stomach.  He’s consumed with the urge to kiss Hanbin again, but he makes no move toward it, holding himself deliberately still as if only to be sure he won’t.  Only Bobby is moving at all, and the whole room seems to be suspended in dreamy torpor, like the calm, peaceful drift of fish in an aquarium.

 

“Hey.” Bobby says quietly.

 

“Mm?” Junhwe hums.

 

When Bobby hesitates, Junhwe tears his eyes away from the curve of Hanbin’s lips, looking up at Bobby to see him leaning on one hand, his expression thoughtfully serious, like he isn’t quite sure how to express what’s on his mind.

 

“Thanks.” Bobby mumbles, looking away from Junhwe slightly, a little smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.  

 

“Yeah.”

 

“How’d we do?”

 

“You were fine, Jiwon, don’t worry. You did great. And forgive me for saying so, but Hanbin is fucking _perfect_.” Junhwe says quietly.  

 

Bobby gnaws his lip. The words in his mouth seem to have Junhwe’s name attached to them, but they’re stuck sideways, and he sighs past them before choking them back altogether. He takes a deep breath.

 

“Yeah, he is.  And…you were…you were really great.” Bobby mutters.

 

Junhwe smiles, ruffling Bobby’s hair again, and then he glances back down at Hanbin’s almost-sleeping face, at the rosebud of his lips, at the loose strands of hair falling over his forehead.  He doesn’t let himself look anywhere else.

 

“Thanks for letting me play.” Junhwe says, getting to his feet.  Bobby looks up at him in mild surprise.

 

“We should be thanking you.  We asked you, not the other way around.”

 

“Yeah, but I don’t usually have this much fun.” Junhwe says, grinning.  He straightens up, turning to leave, but Bobby reaches out, catching him by the wrist and jarring him to a sudden halt.  His hand is warm, and Junhwe’s more aware of that than of anything else in the room, even Hanbin.

 

“You don’t have to leave…if you don’t want to.”

 

Junhwe doesn’t want to.

  


	16. Chapter 16: Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are so amazing, thank you so, so much. <33 Just a little note that updates from here on out may take slightly longer than usual, so please be patient if I'm not able to update on my usual weekly schedule <3 :D

Looking back, if Junhwe hadn’t woken up in bed with Hanbin and Bobby in the first place, he wouldn’t have believed any of it had happened at all.

 

He stirs into slow, reluctant wakefulness as if surfacing from a deep dive, aware only at first of his own bone-deep exhaustion, his first dull thought one of returning to sleep at the first opportunity.  It’s warm and comfortable here, and Junhwe’s in no hurry to remove himself from it.  He takes a deep, waking breath and yawns hugely.

 

But he’s awake, try as he might to reach for the veil of sleepiness still muffling his senses, and little details begin to trickle into his mind as the lights come on one by one.

 

There’s someone in the bed with him.

 

Junhwe sniffs again, yawning until his jaw pops with the strain, and then all at once he realizes _who’s_ there, tucked soft and warm and sleeping under his left arm.  Only at the last moment does he manage to stifle a noise of surprise.

 

Hanbin’s sleeping form is tucked back-to-chest against Junhwe, his head pillowed on Junhwe’s rapidly numbing right arm.  Junhwe’s still fully dressed in his jeans and collared shirt, but he can feel the heat of Hanbin’s bare ribs against his forearm and the soft warmth of his body so close like this.

 

He closes his eyes, his nose buried in Hanbin’s soft, sweet-smelling hair that tickles his upper lip, and casts about for details of the night before; they seem to have scattered themselves widely across his plain of thought without forming into a cohesive memory, so that he comes across a rope knot here, a moan there, and an orgasm way, way over there, gathering them into some semblance of order.

 

And Junhwe is so, _so_ thankful he’s not hard right now.

 

After they’d finished, Junhwe had seated himself upright and deliberately uncomfortable against the headboard while Bobby slid a pair of shorts up over Hanbin’s tired legs, ostensibly for the sake of preserving whatever tattered modesty Hanbin still possessed, though Junhwe had noted wryly that he probably had very little of that left at present.  He hadn’t said it out loud, though.  One doesn’t.  

 

Junhwe allows himself a second moment of thanks not to have ended up sleeping next to a naked Hanbin; it erases one mistake from the long list of them he’s just made.

 

He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, had had every intention to go back to his own bed after Bobby and Hanbin had fallen asleep; it hadn’t taken long, either, because Hanbin had so little consciousness to spare for them post-scene, and all three of them were bright-eyed and languid with satisfied exhaustion.

 

That plan had been scuppered almost at once, however.  Case in point, since he’s waking up with Hanbin sleeping heavy and warm on his aching right arm, with the rich feel and smell of his body overwhelming Junhwe’s senses.  The unmistakable, heady tang of sex still hangs in the air, the scent of cum and sweat and desperation.  Junhwe feels his blood pulse urgently but manages, once again, to stifle it before it can take hold.

 

He wonders instead what it was that woke him, cracking one bleary eye open effortfully, though that tells him only that the sun isn’t up yet.  A misty, cold grey light filters in through the curtains, sapping the color from the room and from the softness of Hanbin’s bare skin that Junhwe knows is golden in the sun but that the dawn turns silver.

 

He becomes aware, finally, slowly, of the sound of someone shuffling about in the darkness—Bobby—and he realizes that what must’ve woken him was the motion of the bed as Bobby got up, or perhaps the sound of him stretching and growling sleepily.

 

Without thinking, Junhwe lifts his head, peering at Bobby through narrowed eyes still crusted with sleep stuff.  “Mm?” He hums, squinting through hazy, blurred eyes.  Bobby looks over at him, though it’s still too dark yet to see his expression, only a sliver of silvery light along the line of his face and chest to separate him from the other shadows.

 

“Sorry,” Bobby whispers into the dark, “go back to sleep.”

 

“Wassamatter?” Junhwe murmurs through puffy lips.

 

“Nothing’s wrong.  I always get up this early.” Bobby whispers back, pulling a t-shirt over his head.  He lets himself out of the bedroom, closing the door quietly behind him, and if Junhwe were any more awake he might’ve sat up in shock that Bobby had simply left him in here alone with Hanbin.

 

But he merely closes his eyes again, lying back down on the pillow, half-obedient and half-not quite ready to let Hanbin go, and too heavy and sleepy to question Bobby’s suggestion or the little lurch of guilt in his stomach.  If Bobby doesn’t mind, then Junhwe isn’t going to either; he may as well enjoy this, as he concedes it probably will never happen again.  In that, he’s almost glad Bobby had woken him, so that he can appreciate this small pleasure of simply being close to Hanbin.

 

He keeps his arm draped over Hanbin’s ribs in its place, his fingers curling inward to his palm, all too aware of the consequences of allowing his hand to wander places it has no business being.  It isn’t even a sexual urge, not even based in hunger.  He’s just curious about the texture of Hanbin’s skin, wanting to explore the warmth of his body, to touch him gently, to kiss the shape of his rosebud lips over and over again, to taste him—

 

 _Oh_.  Nevermind about the _not getting hard_ thing.  Junhwe wonders if he’s always been this stupid, or if he’d suffered some head trauma nobody had bothered to inform him of after the fact.  It’s the only way to explain how he’d ended up in bed with these two.  He shifts his hips back a little so that Hanbin won’t notice his aching hard-on, gnawing on his lower lip until the sharp pain clears his head a little.

 

Hanbin is still sleeping soundly, however, his deep, slow breaths rising and falling in his chest, his dark hair curled and mussed against the pillow, and Junhwe almost wishes he could see Hanbin’s face, though he’s glad he can’t, too.  The temptation to kiss Hanbin’s full, soft, slightly smiling mouth would be overwhelming.  

 

Junhwe closes his eyes again, trying with all his might to ignore Hanbin, but his eyelids won’t stay shut, snapping open like shutters in a windstorm.  He’d have an easier time ignoring a live grenade in his underpants.

 

Hanbin shifts and mumbles finally, stretching long and languorously, grunting with effort as the muscles in his back bunch and shift; Junhwe closes his eyes tightly, pretending to be asleep, though he’s not totally sure why.  It would simply seem so much more awkward for Hanbin to wake up to Junhwe watching him.  When Hanbin rolls over under Junhwe’s arm, Junhwe pretends to stretch and yawn too, taking his hands away from Hanbin in a slow movement just short of a caress.

 

It’s a stupider move than before, too, because Junhwe now knows how soft Hanbin’s skin is in the early morning, when he’s softest already; and because Hanbin, barely awake, shivers softly, his heart skipping alarmingly at the brief touch.  He looks over at Junhwe through half-lidded, sleepy eyes, and Junhwe feels his bones turn to water.

 

A responding splash of icy fear cures him of that almost instantly, however.  Hanbin’s alone in his own bed with Junhwe, who does not, by any stretch of wishful thinking nor imagination, belong in Hanbin’s bed.  He braces for an unhappy reception—or, worse by far than anger or disappointment:  An enthusiastic reaction, a welcoming one, which would make it far harder to leave this warm place.

 

Hanbin, however, is unfazed, unsurprised.  “Hi.” He says through a huge yawn, and Junhwe breathes a little sigh of relief when Hanbin doesn’t immediately freak out or lunge for him.

 

“Hey.” Junhwe says through a sympathetic yawn of his own.  He sits up slightly on his elbows, eager to put distance between himself and Hanbin now that he’s awake.  Five minutes earlier he’d been so close to stealing a kiss from Hanbin’s sleeping smile that he’d all but trembled where he lay to prevent himself acting on the urge.

 

But Hanbin, eyes closed and face mashed into the pillow, gropes in thin air, and Junhwe freezes again when he feels Hanbin’s fingers close softly on his wrist.  “Where’s Jiwon?”

 

“Kitchen.” Junhwe says, his mouth suddenly dry.

 

“Did you sleep here all night?” Hanbin mumbles.

 

“No, I snuck back in here to trade places with Jiwon when he woke up so you wouldn’t notice.” Junhwe says, unable to help himself.  Hanbin chuckles sleepily.

 

“How long have you guys been doing that?  Am I just now noticing?”

 

“A lady has to have some secrets.” Junhwe murmurs, now sweating slightly.  “But yeah, I fell asleep last night.  I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to.”

 

“Where are you going?” Hanbin mumbles, yawning again.  Junhwe lies back down against the pillow, rigid and awkward now that he’s fully awake, but Hanbin’s touch is draining all the resistance out of him very quickly.

 

“Nowhere.” He says.  He’s just spent the night with them; what’s a few more minutes?  “How do you feel this morning?”

 

Hanbin moves experimentally, his fingers tightening on Junhwe’s wrist.  “I’m sore, but it’s okay.”

 

“Sorry about that.”

 

“You are not.” Hanbin giggles again, punching Junhwe lightly, and Junhwe laughs too, ruffling Hanbin’s hair affectionately.

 

“Not even a little bit.  Did you at least have fun?”

 

“I’m pretty sure I had all the fun.” Hanbin hums, adjusting his position until his forehead is pressed against Junhwe’s upper arm, warm through the cotton of his rumpled, collared shirt.  There’s nothing at all sexual in his advance, but Junhwe can’t help reacting to it in that way, if only because most of his own motivations are based in his sexual attraction to Hanbin.

 

But it’s pleasant to lie here in bed together in the strengthening light of dawn, warm and close and comfortable, a peaceable silence between them.  Junhwe even forgets some of his tension, though surprised heat shoots through him when Hanbin’s fingers slip down his wrist into his palm.  

 

It’s so quiet, the strengthening golden sun spilling into and pushing back the watery darkness, bringing the soft red tones out of Hanbin’s dark hair.  Junhwe’s no longer nervous or uncomfortable; his chest is full of something powerful, intense, but he can’t explain it.  It feels as if his heart’s expanding, every beat nudging against something deep and private.

 

Hanbin’s almost asleep again, breathing deeply, having crept surreptitiously onto Junhwe’s shoulder slowly over the course of several minutes, head pillowed in the comfortable little hollow of his collarbone.  That’s when Bobby comes back into the bedroom, fully dressed and a little too awake.  Hanbin jerks into full wakefulness too, grumbling, and Junhwe feels both a rush of relief and a little bit of disappointment.  He’d been enjoying the last of his time with Hanbin, and really hadn’t been in any rush to end it.

 

“Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey.” Bobby singsongs in his rough voice, sitting on the edge of the bed and bouncing the two of them until Hanbin whines.  Junhwe pushes Bobby playfully off the bed with a foot, but Bobby only laughs, hopping back up to lay heavily across Junhwe’s legs.

 

“Hey, do you mind?  I’m trying to ignore you.” Junhwe hums, kicking his feet halfheartedly; Bobby winds an arm around his calves, holding him tightly under an elbow, and Junhwe marvels—Bobby really is _strong_.  Junhwe’s strong, too, but his own power is contained far more in his persona, with not so much raw physical ability to show for it.

 

“No.” Bobby grins.  Junhwe can’t help but laugh too.  Hanbin sits up with interest, looking between Bobby and Junhwe, leaning on an outstretched arm.

 

“I guess this is my comeuppance for last night, huh?” Junhwe mutters.  “Guess even good people have to get punished.  Builds up karma, or so I hear.”

 

“You’d know all about that.” Bobby says.

 

“I mean, if we’re keeping score…” Junhwe says, heaving himself into a sitting position, only for Hanbin to push him back down.  Bobby shifts to lean on Junhwe’s legs more firmly, and Junhwe wriggles, laughing his horrible silly laugh.  Hanbin swiftly pushes Junhwe back down again when he makes another bid to sit up, the odd angle making him weak with strain, so that only the softest touch of Hanbin’s hand knocks him back down, though Hanbin adds unnecessary force, as if in reminder of Junhwe’s position.

 

Hanbin grabs Junhwe’s wrist when he tries to sit up a third time.

 

And it’s like a puzzle piece slides into place, completing a picture that none of them could’ve seen without it.  Bobby and Hanbin have Junhwe pinned against the bed, and Junhwe feels a sudden cold sweat start on his ribs, his heart pounding with shock—

 

The sun is beginning to pour into the room by now, having just crested over the horizon; Hanbin’s glowing in the freshly-minted light, his face bright and golden, his lips so impossibly pink.  In the background, Bobby’s laughing too, his face scrunched with mirth.  A great puzzlement stalls Junhwe’s heartbeat, like watching a tragedy happen before his eyes, the whole room slowing to just short of a stop.

 

And it’s as much a surprise to himself as it is to anyone when Hanbin’s mouth slants across Junhwe’s.

 

Junhwe’s laughter dies when he feels the warmth of Hanbin’s breath against his lips, and he stiffens in surprise as arousal bursts through him like magma, scalding-hot and unforgiving, his stomach a mess of flaring heat and eagerness that has him hard in an instant.  Junhwe wonders if he’s died and gone to heaven, because God help him, kissing Hanbin is better than heaven—it’s fucking _paradise_.

 

Hanbin tastes like morning breath, but it doesn’t matter, because Junhwe’s melting with the taste of him, with the heated glide of his tongue against Junhwe’s and the impossible softness of his lips, Hanbin’s breathlessness stealing Junhwe’s own oxygen with every teasing slide of his mouth.  Junhwe can feel Hanbin’s eyelashes against his cheek, the brush of his breath against his top lip, and he never, ever wants this to stop—

 

But he becomes suddenly aware of Bobby’s weight still pinning his legs down, and he realizes that maybe he hasn’t died and gone to heaven, but he sure is about to.  He braces again, this time in anticipation of an impact that may or may not come, for the anger in Bobby’s voice, for a shout of rage.  

 

His tension spreads to Hanbin, who pulls away sharply with a look of surprise on his face, as if he can’t quite believe he’d just done that either.  His dark eyes are luminous, glittering above the sudden flush of his cheeks, and he says in a trembling voice, “S-sorry.”

 

Junhwe looks at Bobby first, however, and finds him watching with a flat, glazed, eager expression, as if too distracted to grasp the implications of what just happened, like a predator surprised by another in the long grass.  

 

The silence ticks by like pebbles into water, ripples riding the surface.  Junhwe licks his lips, still missing Hanbin’s kiss, but cautious now, alarmed.  Bobby imitates him automatically.

 

“You don’t have to apologize to me.” He says finally, looking back at Hanbin with just a hint of challenge in his voice that Bobby knows is all for him.  “But hyung might feel differently.”

 

Bobby laughs suddenly, softly, knowing exactly what Junhwe means.  Hanbin flushes.  “Any other takers, Jiwon?” Junhwe adds, eyes darting sideways to look at Bobby with a challenge in his gaze to match that in his tone.

 

“Oh, I’m not _that_ easy.” Bobby says, releasing Junhwe’s legs and sitting up slowly.  Hanbin turns to look at him in surprise.  “But it sure seems _someone_ in this room is.”

 

He lurches forward to grab Hanbin by the upper arm before he can do more than yelp in surprise, dragging him back until he’s almost straddling Junhwe’s lap.  Hanbin’s thighs tremble weakly with exhaustion from the night before, and he swallows hard as Bobby tugs him ruthlessly into place.  “I didn’t know you felt this way about him,” Bobby says in a low, suggestive rasp, “If you’re going to kiss him, then maybe you can ask him to take care of this for you, too.”

 

Bobby’s hand slides down over the front of Hanbin’s shorts to palm him through the thin nylon, where the rigid shape of his cock is all too apparent.  Hanbin gives a little hiccupping moan of reluctant pleasure.  “Go on, ask him.” Bobby coaxes.

 

Junhwe has to stop and wonder once more if the world has gone insane, if he’s dreaming, or maybe he’s just hallucinating with the sudden rush of hot blood to his head.  There can’t possibly be another explanation for the vision above him, looking up at a half-naked Hanbin trembling in his lap, with Bobby’s hand touching him so lewdly.  

 

Brain damage.  It has to be the answer.  But then, this would be enough to make anyone’s head spin, not least Junhwe’s.

 

“O-oppa…” Hanbin whimpers, not looking at Junhwe, cheeks ablaze with shame.

 

Junhwe takes a deep breath, and something clicks back into place, his mind suddenly clearing, the urgent, instinctive pull of his greedy hunger drowned by the suggestion of a greater threat.  If only to save himself from going mad with need, he’s got to take better control of the situation, and control it more rigidly than he’s ever been called on to do before.  

 

He folds his hands behind his head comfortably, settling more firmly into that controlled sense of power he’s so familiar with, and he smirks up at Hanbin before his eyes find Bobby’s.

 

“Do it yourself.”

 

Hanbin huffs, his cheeks reddening further with shame.  Bobby releases the grip of his hand in the front of Hanbin’s shorts, slapping Hanbin sharply on the ass instead, and Hanbin jolts, moaning outright.  “I gotta admit, I find it tough to believe you didn’t get enough yesterday.” Junhwe says huskily.

 

Hanbin doesn’t answer.  He squeezes his eyes shut as if willing Bobby and Junhwe to disappear, wetness gathering along the length of his eyelashes, and Bobby laughs.  “It does take a lot to satisfy him.”

 

“Ah, so he’s greedy.” Junhwe says, pleasure and warning in his voice.  “Perfect.”

 

Hanbin’s hesitating, gnawing on his lip, glaring down at Junhwe, but Bobby slaps him again.  “Don’t complain.  Oppa and hyung haven’t come at all, have we?  So you’d better be grateful that we gave ours up so you could enjoy them, greedy boy.”

 

Hanbin sniffs, his trembling breath leaving his kiss-swollen lips, and then his fingers pry past the loose elastic of his shorts, where his cock waits eager and hard, tenting the loose, silky fabric.  He makes no effort to pull them down, however, his hand buried wrist-deep beneath the elastic, the stretch of the waistband restricting his movements.  It doesn’t matter.  Junhwe would like to tell himself that this isn’t about sex—that it’s so much _less_ about sex than control, than the power Hanbin concedes to them—and once upon a time, that would’ve been entirely true, but Junhwe’s not so sure now.

 

It takes almost no time for Hanbin to stiffen, his breaths coming short and harsh in his chest, the flutter of his hand twitching under the silky drape of his shorts.  “Ah—” He moans, shivering and lurching eagerly, still keyed up and achingly hypersensitive from the night prior.  He trembles in warning.

 

“Look at me.” Junhwe whispers sharply.  Hanbin’s eyes slit open with an effort, and he spills over his hand with a loud moan of embarrassed pleasure, unable to look at anything but Junhwe’s intense gaze as his sudden, shocking, juddering orgasm slams through him in a powerful wave.

 

He sags a little as Bobby gathers him up, whimpering with effort, his lips swollen and flushed with arousal.  Bobby’s cock presses hard and eager against Hanbin’s ass, but Hanbin ignores him, panting, his eyes closed tight.  Jammed bluntly into the crook of his hip, he can feel Junhwe, too, hard and ready, and the realization has Hanbin already feeling a renewed spark of arousal flaring in his belly.

 

Junhwe’s ridiculously hard against the weight of Hanbin where he shifts, but taking precedence to that is the numbness of his legs thanks to Bobby’s weight.  The discomfort reaches a pitch he can no longer ignore, his calf drawing tight angrily.

 

“Hey—uh, okay, _airplane_ , _airplane_ —” Junhwe says in an oddly cracked voice, “This is really fun, but I can’t feel my legs, and I’ve got to take care of this before it gets any later.”

 

“Take care of what?” Hanbin repeats blankly, still too dazed to catch on, cocking his head to the side with interest as Bobby moves to one side off Junhwe’s legs.

 

Junhwe growls, a lurch of impatience making him grab Hanbin instinctively by the waist, rolling his hips up powerfully so that Hanbin can clearly feel the shape of him through his jeans; Hanbin gasps in surprise, and Junhwe grunts too at the first real bit of friction he’s gotten since last night.  It’s almost impossible to stop himself, but he does.

 

“ _That_.” He says breathlessly.  Hanbin makes a little surprised sound of pleasure, grinning lazily.

 

“Hanbin, look what you did.” Bobby says in mock-admonishment, and Hanbin grins wider, sticking his tongue out at Junhwe.

 

“Don’t you sass me, or I’ll spank you.  Actually, I’ll probably get Jiwon to spank you.” Junhwe says, his voice trailing off into laughter.

 

“Oh, you can do the honors.” Bobby says idly.  “Or you could just make him fix your problem right here and now, seeing as it's his fault.”

 

Junhwe feels a little check at the edge of his heart, and he turns a wary gaze on Bobby, aware of the danger of the situation he’s just gotten himself into.  Even in his wildest younger days, even as a new Dom, he’d never let his sexuality rule him so completely, and Hanbin and Bobby have slipped past his guard so smoothly he can hardly believe it happened at all.

 

Nor can he remember being tempted so mercilessly.

 

“—er, I’d better not.  Not that I don’t want to, but uh…” He says, floundering, trying to sit up, and Hanbin swings off his lap finally, as if frightened of him.  What he wants to say is _this has gone too far, this is a mistake—_

 

But Junhwe’s eyes find Hanbin’s mouth, his shining eyes, and Bobby’s furrowed eyebrows, and all the urgency and resistance drains out of him, forgetting why exactly he’s in such a blazing hurry to throw this into the fire.  All he really knows is that this situation is wildly out of control, and he’s not used to not having authority over a situation.  It’s been a very long time since he’d been the one to be seduced by someone else, and it frightens him on a deep level he can’t identify.

 

“I can’t have sex with my clients.” Junhwe says finally, though he’s aching to take advantage of the situation, aching to break his own rule just for another chance at Hanbin.

 

“Oh yeah.” Hanbin says.

 

“Yeah, but we’re your friends.” Bobby says with a smile that says he’s joking around, but he lays a delicate stress on _friends_ anyway that Junhwe hears and understands all too clearly.  He rubs his eyes, sitting up with a sigh of effort, trying to clear his head of the slow-moving clouds of lust still muffling his reason.

 

“Awww.” Hanbin hums in mock disappointment.  Junhwe closes his eyes, praying that he isn’t about to have a heart attack, and doesn’t answer Hanbin’s complaint.

 

“Okay, but consider this:  It’s seven-thirty and we all have to get ready for work.”

 

“Oh yeah.” Hanbin says with a laugh, and Bobby groans with disappointment.

 

Junhwe leans in to kiss Hanbin on the cheek, feeling it would be odd not to, and then hating himself for the pleasurable little swoop it incites in his belly when Hanbin kisses him in return.  He stops before he reaches Bobby, however, and they look at one another appraisingly, curiously, something tense and sweet and excited passing between them, though neither of them are quite sure what it is.

 

And then the moment passes, and Junhwe winks at Bobby instead, ruffling Hanbin’s hair as he gets to his feet.  “I’ll see you later tonight, yeah?”

 

He closes the door to Hanbin and Bobby’s murmured agreement, and then he leans against the wall for a moment, blinking in the sunlight streaming into the much brighter living room.  He rubs his eyes, and then he laughs quietly to himself, partly from giddy elation, partly from hysterical disbelief.

 

He can almost feel that this isn’t going to end here.

 


	17. Chapter 17: Pressure

“Why are you a Dom?”

 

Bobby’s voice is brittle with exhaustion and his own raspiness, and Junhwe’s brain clicks into motion very slowly, like a tired engine.

 

Hanbin drops off into sleep almost before Junhwe and Bobby can catch their breath, the three of them lying together in the slowly ebbing heat of intensity.  Junhwe aches all over, for multiple reasons, and Bobby shifts uncomfortably next to Hanbin for some time, not being used to not coming during a scene.  He doesn’t like the idea of going to sleep still hard, but he’s still not sure how comfortable he feels letting Junhwe see him like that.

 

Junhwe grunts, and then sits up more fully, rubbing at his half-closed eyes and struggling to collect his scattered thoughts.  “That’s an interesting question.” He says in a voice as strained as Bobby’s.  “There’s not really a _reason_ , I guess.  My family and childhood were normal, thanks for asking.  I think it’s about accomplishment.  I love being the person someone can trust with something as deep and personal as their submission, and I love the satisfaction of giving someone the one thing they can’t get from anyone else.”

 

Bobby hums, indicating his interest, but doesn’t interrupt.  Junhwe bites his tongue briefly, looking down at Hanbin with bleary eyes, and then continues.

 

“The thing is, everyone has a dick.  Or a pussy.  Or _something_.  Point is, everyone’s got genitalia.  It isn’t hard to get laid.” Junhwe says, folding his hands thoughtfully behind his head.  “But it takes a special kind of person to get under your skin, into your brain.  I’d go as far as to say that anyone can be taught to wield a whip, but not everyone is willing to take on the kind of trust that goes with that.  Not everyone understands that Dominance is as much—or more, sometimes—about earning the trust of your sub than gratifying your own instincts for rough sex, nor are a lot of people even aware of the difference between this and abuse.”

 

Bobby nods, still looking up at the ceiling thoughtfully, his eyes shadowed with tiredness.  The tiniest of smiles lurks in the corner of his lips, and Junhwe finds himself staring, wondering if he’s imagining it.

 

“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever been asked to do as a professional?” He asks after a moment, glancing over at Junhwe.

 

Junhwe pauses.  “Worst I’ve ever been asked?  Couldn’t tell you, there’s been some bad ones.  Worst I’ve ever ended up doing—uh, probably Roman showers.” He says.  “Not a fan of that one.”

 

“What?”

 

“Trust me, you don’t want to know.”

 

Bobby makes a disgusted face in spite of his ignorance, Junhwe’s tone enough to make him shiver, and Junhwe laughs.  “Money’s the same color, no matter where it comes from.”

 

“Yeah, but whatever that is, it sounds gross.” Bobby says, scowling.

 

“Hey, people say art is beautiful, but dreaming of being an artist is stupid.  I think as a musician, you’d understand that.”

 

Bobby’s expression clears, and he looks directly at Junhwe with raised eyebrows, as if Junhwe’s just thumped him unexpectedly on the back of the head.  Hanbin sighs peaceably between them, a little smile on his lips, and turns his face closer to the pillow, tucking his arms beneath himself.

 

“Why do you think Hanbin’s a sub?”

 

Junhwe looks down at Hanbin again, automatically brushing a lock of damp hair back behind Hanbin’s ear, his stomach giving a pleasurable little swoop.  “Because he’s a control freak.”

 

“I don’t get it.  Don’t you think that’d apply more to one of us than to him?”

 

“You’d think, but kink is full of contradictions.  Maybe you’ve heard that there’s freedom in bondage; some people really find that’s true.  When you can’t fight it, the only thing to do is suffer it or enjoy—and those two things aren’t mutually exclusive.” Junhwe explains, folding his hands across his belly now.  “Hanbin needs you to take control from him, because he drives himself crazy trying to do everything on his own.  He loves detail and organization, and for all his spontaneity, it has to be on his terms, or he resists it.”

 

Bobby laughs.

 

“So when you take away all those options, you take away his ability to control things and force him to submit to your will, you take away all that stress he carries without even knowing it.  All those worries stay far away.  He has only one thing he’s allowed to control.  It’s very freeing.”

 

“What’s that thing?”

 

“ _Stop_ and _go_.” Junhwe says softly.

 

Bobby nods, his tongue flicking out to wet his dry lips.  “You really understand him.”

 

“Well, in a way. I’ve got a lot of experience and training, so it’s a little easier for me.” Junhwe says.

 

Bobby’s next smile comes out as more of a grimace, too rueful to have much humor in it. “I wish I was as good as you.”

 

“Jiwon, you can’t compare yourself to me.” Junhwe says, a bite of impatience in his voice now.  “I have almost ten years of experience.  You’ve only just started experimenting, so I don’t know what you’re expecting.  You’re being entirely too hard on yourself.”

 

“Yeah, but…” Bobby interjects, only for Junhwe to shake his head.

 

“You don’t operate at my level because you lack experience, that’s all.  You’re not doing anything _wrong_.  You’d probably be a pretty bad accountant after six months, too, and I bet Hanbin doesn’t know the first thing about producing.  Be patient with yourselves.”

 

Bobby nods, falling silent, chewing thoughtfully on his lower lip.  Junhwe can see Bobby thinking, hear the grinding of his gears even over Hanbin’s slow sleep breaths.  More than that, he can hear what Bobby isn’t saying, can see it in his expression.

 

Junhwe had shown Bobby something of Hanbin that Bobby hadn’t been able to access himself, at least not yet; and Bobby wants more of it, just like Junhwe does.  Bobby’s been feeding off the chemistry of Junhwe’s intensity and Hanbin’s submissiveness, addicted to the soaring high since the very first time Junhwe had tied Hanbin up in a shiny blue rope on stage so long ago.

 

But one addiction feeding another’s is a vicious, self-perpetuating cycle, and sooner or later, something must run out—patience, affection, or the substance they share between them, no matter how endless the sea or deep the well, and Hanbin is only one man.

 

Junhwe closes his eyes, too exhausted to keep them open.  Bobby reaches across to turn off the light and slings his own arm over Hanbin’s waist.

 

And if Junhwe rolls over in the night and drapes his arm unconsciously over Hanbin’s waist too, his hand coming to rest warm on Bobby’s ribs through his t-shirt, well, Bobby’s too sleepy to notice.  
  


*

 

And as for Hanbin—he couldn’t explain any of it if he’d tried, and he’s reluctant to do so now.

 

His mind works furiously in time with the quiet patter of the warm shower, thoughts slipping back and forth with the feel of Bobby’s wet hands on his skin and the rough pleasure of the loofah.

 

For starters, he’s mortified at his sudden decision to kiss Junhwe, and his cheeks color just at the thought of it, how his mind had gone suddenly blank except for a burning, urgent sense of gratefulness.  It had seemed like the most obvious thing in the world to lean forward and cover Junhwe’s mouth with his own, silencing his silly giggles in an attempt to communicate his own thanks.

 

He’s heard of something like this before, a long time ago, of subs meeting Doms they can’t help but want to kneel to; some quality, some commanding force of presence drawing that quiet desire to the surface, like finding treasure in the haystack of proclivity.

 

And oh, Junhwe’s lips are as soft as he’d thought they would be.  The feel of Junhwe’s startled breath against his cheek had sent a ripple of response through him that found its echoes in Junhwe’s own body, sharing one another’s excitement.

 

Hanbin’s memories of their scene, like Junhwe’s and Bobby’s, are fractured and strewn about his mind like shards of a mirror, so that Hanbin leaps from whip to orgasm to rope and back, inexplicably, to Junhwe slapping him across the face.  The mere memory of that instant makes a jerk of pure reaction surge through Hanbin’s body.

 

Bobby pauses in his ministrations, taking the loofah away from his shoulder and peering at him in concern.  “You okay?”

 

Hanbin nods, closing his eyes.  “Yeah, I’m fine.” He says, reaching up to touch Bobby’s hand on his shoulder.

 

“So what just happened there?” Bobby says softly.  He doesn’t sound angry, nor disbelieving, as Hanbin had when Bobby had told him of his own scene with Junhwe.  On the contrary, he seems genuinely curious.  Nevertheless, Hanbin tenses slightly again, knowing what he means.  Everything that had happened had been planned, right up until he’d lost control of himself.  That had been the moment he’d fucked things up, if only because he can’t help looking forward to the next time.

 

If he can even dare to hope there _is_ a next time.

 

Because now it’s Hanbin’s turn to explain himself to Bobby, like Bobby had done in what seems like ages ago.  The problem is that Hanbin still can’t seem to explain it to himself.  All he’s aware of is that something’s happened, some catalyst, in which his world had been split suddenly into two—a world before Hanbin had knelt on the carpet last night, and a world after he’d kissed Junhwe, and the most strange and pleasant dream in between, in which Junhwe had taught him how to see new colors.

 

He has no idea that Junhwe had shown Bobby the same thing, nor that Bobby now has a new favorite color of his own.

 

Hanbin shrugs, lowering his head as Bobby gently scrubs the back of his neck.  “I don’t know.” He says honestly. “It just felt like…the thing to do.”

 

“Sure took me by surprise.”

 

“Not just you.” Hanbin says, closing his eyes.

 

“You didn’t even ask for permission to do that.” Bobby hums, sounding playful, and he grabs Hanbin’s ass with wet hands, making him grunt.  He releases Hanbin quickly, patting him apologetically instead.  “Sorry, I forgot you were still sore.”

 

“ _You_ might’ve forgotten.” Hanbin mutters, tipping his head back when Bobby reaches for the shampoo.  Bobby’s fingertips are gentler still on his scalp, and Hanbin hums with pleasure.  “Are you—uh, are you mad about it?”

 

Bobby doesn’t answer right away, but his hands don’t pause in his gentle washing of Hanbin’s hair, either, rubbing little circles into the sides of Hanbin’s head before sculpting his hair into a foamy unicorn spike on the top of his head.

 

On one hand, Bobby hadn’t minded at all.  Everything about it had seemed surreal, almost as if he’d imagined it, though the responding hot rush of his blood had been real enough.  It was simply one more thing in a long list of delicious occurrences, the ones Bobby had collected for himself like plucking diamonds out of the sky:  Hanbin’s high-pitched, surprised moans, the curve of his spine and the shadow of rope left behind on his skin, the shape of his lips around the flogger Junhwe had pushed between his teeth, and the intensity of Junhwe’s narrowed eyes when Bobby had forced Hanbin to touch himself off…

 

There’s something deeper and more troublesome than pure sexual gratification here, too, some tiny pinch of discomfort he can’t quite pinpoint; it isn’t jealousy, but something more complicated.  There’s admiration, certainly, and envy of Junhwe’s ability, and the pleasure of seeing anything done so well, of something as much science as it is art.

 

No, what’s really bothering him is that somewhere, somehow, this had begun to mean something to him, and it seems unfair that he’s the only one.

 

He’s not sure exactly what it had begun to mean, either.  Whether he’s developing some kind of misplaced crush on Junhwe’s ability, or fallen for the effect he has on Hanbin; or maybe something more poisonous, like jealousy of those mysteries Junhwe had pried from Hanbin and laid bare for both of them to see.  Secrets about which Bobby is still ignorant, secrets which should belong to Bobby alone, underscored sharply by his own addiction to their chemistry.

 

He isn’t too stupid to realize how clever Junhwe had been, either, diffusing the situation by making it into a game; somehow, Bobby’s gotten it into his mind that their scenes are more like fantasies than real occurrences, as if secrets unshared don’t really exist, and what happens in a scene never _really_ happened afterward.

 

“No, baby, I’m not mad.” Bobby says simply, and he’s surprised to find that he means it.  “Just surprised, that’s all.”

 

Hanbin sighs with as much relief as pleasure as Bobby reaches forward with the showerhead to rinse his hair out for him, smoothing it back off his face.  “I mean, it’s just kissing.” Bobby continues, thinking inexplicably of Donghyuk, that maybe he understands what Donghyuk had meant all that time ago.   _It’s only sex.  I know he loves me no matter what, and at the end of the day, he’s mine._

 

And the connection between them the night before, or this morning—no matter how conditional or temporary, it had been real.  Of that, Bobby’s unquestioningly sure.

 

“Yeah.  It’s just kissing.  Just playing.” Hanbin murmurs.  His voice is hardly louder than the shower as Bobby turns off the water and reaches for a towel.

 

“Right.” Bobby says, rubbing Hanbin’s hair with the towel and then holding his face between both hands to kiss him.  “That’s all.”

 

Hanbin doesn’t know how much he believes that, but he clings to it all the same.  
  


*

 

Junhwe leaves in something of a hurry for work before Bobby and Hanbin emerge from their bedroom, hoping against hope that the air will clear before he gets back.

 

The giddy elation of the morning follows him to the office, and he feels oddly conspicuous, as if everyone around him can tell that the flush of his face isn’t from the cold slap of the wind across his cheeks but something warm inside.

 

He can’t stop thinking about it, can’t stop thinking about the feel of Hanbin’s fingers sliding into his palm, of the warm solidity of his body tucked beneath Junhwe’s arm, of Bobby’s smirk as he’d cupped Hanbin through his shorts.  He can’t stop himself remembering the arresting expression on Bobby’s face, his clear eyes dark and knowing.  The echoing moans in his ears and the rasp of Bobby’s soft voice are just the soundtrack to his slow descent into madness.

 

He’d thought, hoped really, that his obsession would ease once he’d gotten the chance to taste Hanbin, had hoped that getting a fix might allay the intensity of his cravings.  It’s also not often Junhwe gets to admire just how spectacularly wrong he can be.

 

Because touching Hanbin had been firmly in the Top Five Worst Mistakes of his life.  It had only served to stoke the eager burn low in his belly into a constant blaze that digs its spurs ruthlessly into him, flaring at inopportune moments.  He’s in so far over his head he can’t even see the surface anymore, and oh _god_ , just the memory of Hanbin’s kiss from this morning has his blood pounding in his head in an instant.  

  


But then, Junhwe’s never been one to let unfinished business lie.  He’s like a magpie, building a nest around a shining moment that isn’t really his.  The knowledge is a needle in the balloon of happiness in his chest, but the deflation is slow and agonizing and hollowing.

 

He knows he can handle whatever might happen at home between himself and Bobby—Hanbin, after all, had been the instigator here; Junhwe doesn’t foresee conflict with him—but rarely has he looked forward to something so little.

 

Curiously, mixed with the dread of a potentially angry Bobby is the sense of anticipation he’s come to expect from them, too, the expectation of happy surprise.  Hoping to be welcomed back in, hoping again to experience Hanbin’s sweetness and Bobby’s careful authority.

 

He clocks out, sweating despite the chill of his office and the oncoming icy weather on his walk home, a growing lump of dread lodging itself beneath his lungs to fill the space left behind.  For the first time since moving in, he doesn’t want to go back.  He doesn’t want to face whatever it is he’s created, to see Bobby’s accusation or Hanbin’s bafflement, or to be reminded of his mistake.

 

“Hey, Junhwe.”

 

Chaerin taps him on the elbow—that being essentially the highest part of him she can reach—and he turns in surprise, nearly knocking her over.  “Sorry.” He says, steadying her automatically, but she merely laughs.

 

“You want to go get drinks once we get done here?  Youngbae, Daesung, Sandara and I are going.”

 

Junhwe bites the inside of his lip.  On one hand, here’s a ready-made excuse not to head home immediately, but he’s so tense and anxious that he thinks he’d like nothing better than to go back to the apartment and lock himself in his room for the next two weeks.

 

“Yeah, alright.  Where are we going?”

 

“Dunno, Youngbae is gonna take us there.” Chaerin says, waving a manicured hand carelessly.  

 

Junhwe, distracted and only half-listening, grunts wordlessly by way of response, and Chaerin regards him with one raised eyebrow.

 

“Hey.  You alright?”

 

Junhwe’s attention snaps back to Chaerin at once, his thoughts broken into by the curious tone of her voice.  He tries an ingratiating smile, without much success.  “Yeah, I’m fine.”

 

“You sure?  You’ve been really pale all day.” She prompts, eyebrows furrowing in concern, and Junhwe shakes his head.

 

“It’s cold out.  I’m probably coming down with something.” He says listlessly.  Chaerin purses her lips sympathetically, nodding, and then fishes in her purse, handing Junhwe a paper face mask.

 

“Thanks.” He says with a weak little smile, tucking the elastic behind his ears to hide his face.  Maybe he really will feel better after a couple of drinks.

 

“You don’t have to come if you’re not feeling well.”

  
“It’s fine.” Junhwe mumbles, voice muffled slightly behind the mask.

 

Junhwe never mentions Chaerin’s job at the Cherry Pit, just like Chaerin never mentions his.  He can’t remember whether he met her at work or at the club, through Yunhyeong or another client, but it doesn’t matter.  They aren’t friends, not as such, but long periods of exposure to one another had lent itself to a nudge-wink sort of humor between them at work, a joking _hey-I-know-what-you-did-this-weekend_ familiarity, and it’s nice sometimes to know there’s someone there that he could talk to if he wanted, someone outside of the intense mood of the club or Yunhyeong and Donghyuk’s aggressiveness.  

 

Chaerin throws him another concerned look, but he looks back stolidly, and she doesn’t press him.

 

He walks at the back of the group next to Sandara, who’s as quiet as always; this suits Junhwe just fine, not being in the mood for conversation either.  Junhwe wonders idly how someone so soft-spoken got to be a lawyer, wonders how she manages to bolster her tiny, quavering office voice into the bronze bell he knows the court must demand of her.

 

Then again, maybe she’s not so different from Junhwe after all.  Everyone changes, everyone puts on a show for their audience, just like Junhwe does on the outset of a scene, just like Chaerin is doing for Youngbae just now, the two of them leading the group and talking animatedly together.

 

It’s easy for Junhwe to tell that Youngbae likes Chaerin, but Junhwe wonders if Youngbae would be bothered to realize how kinky and demanding she can be, if he’d run from that surprise.  A sardonic part of Junhwe suspects Youngbae likes her because she’s shorter than him, if only slightly.

 

Junhwe isn’t interested in Chaerin any more than she is in Junhwe, but he’d had to admit she’d made a wonderful sub at one point.  That was one benefit of professional Dominance often overlooked:  The flexibility to shed the rigid, preconceived notions of sexuality and focus on moving along the lines of sensual power and control instead, different planes of play affording the freedom to engage with almost anyone without being restricted by the gender or sex of your partner. Dominance and submission are primary to the pettier concerns of one’s body.

 

This line of thinking is a mistake, because it isn’t very far of a jump at all from Chaerin in ropes five years back to Hanbin in ropes yesterday, and the weight of anxiety in his chest seems to suddenly expand again, making his shoulders ache and his neck tense even as a responding heat stirs in his lower belly.  He quickly redirects his thoughts, and even though the heat ebbs as quickly as it’d woken, nothing seems to ease the pressure in his lungs.

 

And he knows that only one thing can at this point.  Well, two things, but talking is easier.

 

“You know what,” Junhwe says after a minute, catching up with Chaerin, “I think I’m gonna go home after all.  I’m really not feeling great.”

 

Chaerin pouts sympathetically.  “Aww.  Okay, just give me a call if you don’t feel well enough to come in tomorrow.”

 

“See you.” Junhwe says, and waves at the group until they round the corner out of sight.  
  


*  
  


The apartment is very quiet when Junhwe lets himself in, and so still that it might’ve been empty, except that Bobby’s hat and jacket are hanging on the hook beside the entryway; Hanbin’s shoes and scarf are still missing.  Junhwe feels a lurch of dismay that jostles the weight of his tension, so that he feels nervous and nauseous at the same time.

 

He fights down the urge to turn around and leave again, partly because it’s achingly cold and threatening to snow outside, partly because Junhwe wants this dealt with, and partly because Bobby himself is sitting on the couch, headphones on and scribbling in a notebook.  He looks up at Junhwe in surprise when he catches the motion of the door, and Junhwe knows he’s been sighted, cornered.

 

Junhwe can’t know that he pales when he makes eye contact with Bobby; all he knows is that he feels a little faint, and his heart tumbles from its perch inside his chest into the bottom of his stomach.

 

Bobby grins up at Junhwe without removing his headphones before returning to his notebook.  Junhwe relaxes just a little, relieved, but still torn between walking over and yanking Bobby’s headphones off and demanding an explanation, and holing up in his room for the rest of his life without challenging any of this messy situation.  

 

Because Junhwe’s more and more sure by the minute that only distance from these two can cool his hot blood, which has only increased in temperature with his proximity to Hanbin’s incandescent sexuality and with Bobby’s leniency—even enthusiasm—in Junhwe’s exposure to it.  He isn’t sure, however, whether _distance_ means very far or very close.  

 

The first taste is always the sweetest, and the sun is always brightest in the first moments after daybreak, in stinging eyes blurred and dimmed by sleep.

 

Bobby, in turn, tugs off his headphones after a second or two more of scribbling, and he stretches and yawns.  “Hey.”

 

“Hi.” Junhwe says without looking at Bobby, in case there’s anger in his expression.  If there is, Junhwe doesn’t think he could handle see it, doesn’t want to take the chance.

 

“What’s with the mask?  Are you getting sick?” Bobby asks without preamble.

“No, just ugly.” Junhwe says, pulling off the mask with a brave attempt at a smile.  The lower half of his face feels suddenly cold, but it’s nowhere near as cold as the knot in the pit of his stomach.

 

“Not any more than usual, I suppose.  I was wondering if you’d caught a cold from Hanbin, but it’s too soon for that.”

 

Junhwe’s eyes snap back to Bobby’s, whose idle tone gives nothing away, but his thoughtful expression betrays more than the simplicity of his words.  

 

Junhwe swallows hard, space and tension stretching out between them until he can barely stand it.  He remembers when he’d first moved in, and their attention had been trained on him like a hunting dog plunging after a rabbit; this feels a lot like that now, focused and intense and so _aware_.  A sudden sweat breaks out under Junhwe’s collar.

 

“Yeah, I guess it is.” Junhwe says at last, his mouth rather dry.  

 

Bobby leans back on the couch with hands folded behind his head, and though he looks casual, his jaw is set, his clever almond-shaped eyes narrowed, searching Junhwe through a sidelong look.  “Are you angry at us?”

 

And Bobby must know he’s just ridden the elephant into the room, because it’s just sat on Junhwe’s chest, the weight of anxiety inside him suddenly doubling and trebling until all the breath is squeezed out of him.  Junhwe finds his tongue, which is stuck halfway down his dry throat, and he gnaws on his lower lip to maneuver it back into place.  “Course not.” He says unconvincingly, shaking his head.

 

“You sure you’re not pissed off?”

 

“Complete opposite, actually.”

 

“Pissed on?”

 

Junhwe finally laughs, and a little more of the tension dissipates between them.  Bobby turns to look at Junhwe directly, and his gaze is clear, his eyes dark.  “I just wondered if you felt weird about Hanbin kissing you.”

 

Junhwe blinks; whatever he’d expected Bobby to say, that had been so far from it that he can only stare.  He’s more shocked that Bobby had brought it up so transparently than he is by the words themselves, and he grabs the edge of the counter for support.

 

“Yeah, I…yeah.” Junhwe says finally, licking his lips.  “I wondered about that.”  

 

“I think maybe we all just got carried away this morning.” Bobby muses.

 

“Yeah.” Junhwe nods.  “But—I really don’t mind, if that’s what you’re worried about.  I’m worried _you_ might mind.  I’d rather not…you know, I don’t want to mess anything up.”

 

Bobby nods slowly, contemplatively, not looking at Junhwe now but out the window.  His expression is serious, his lips pursed, the line of his cheek silvered by the last of the fading winter sun.  Flecks of snow begin to spot the outer glass, but it’s too warm yet for it to linger.

 

“No, I don’t mind.” Bobby says after another thoughtful moment.  “It’s okay, really.”

 

“Are you sure?” Junhwe says.

 

Bobby turns back to look at Junhwe, and he nods.  “Yeah.  After all, it’s just playing.”

 

Junhwe licks his lips.  Once again, he can hear what Bobby is saying, as well as what he isn’t.  He becomes aware of a curious stalemate, and it’s both a happy epiphany and an unwelcome realization.

 

Bobby has no more notion of Junhwe’s romantic feelings toward Hanbin than Hanbin himself does.  As far as they’re concerned, they’re merely clients to Junhwe’s professional, and they _think_ of themselves as clients, certainly, and friends, but not lovers; and Junhwe knows he never can be, never will be.  Just as Bobby had thought earlier in the day, a secret unshared may or may not really exist, may collapse on itself like a vacuum, and that, too, explains Bobby and Hanbin’s lack of suspicion, and even the ease and trust with which they open themselves to him.

 

From Hanbin’s and Bobby’s perspective, it’s a friendly arrangement and no more, taking advantage (entirely fairly, Junhwe has to admit) of his ability and accessibility.  

 

From Junhwe’s, it’s a rope bridge to hell, along which treachery smiles and smells sweet, where lust rides him every step of the way, spurs dug into his side to guide him.  Leverage, in the form of money and exchange, to lead him further on and reinforce their trust in him, and Junhwe giving up a little more of his humanity each time for one more taste of oblivion.  Trust can be bought, and tenderness, even a shallow kind of intense love, painfully sweet in the full flight of dreaming.

 

But eventually, money runs out, leverage fails, and dawn is when all dreams end.

 

Junhwe swears to himself right then and there never to bring it up, because if he’s going to hell, he may as well not hurry anything up.  And if Bobby and Hanbin are going to keep inviting him to play…it’d be impossible for him not to take advantage of such a mutually beneficial solution like that.  Everyone getting what they want.

 

“Yeah.  It’s just playing.  That’s all.” He agrees finally, nodding.  At the same time, Bobby smiles at him, and Junhwe’s stomach gives one of its familiar, funny little dips.  

 

“Thanks for last night.”

 

“No problem.” Junhwe says, grinning.

 

“So you’ll play with us again sometime?”

 

And Junhwe might have had a chance at resisting Bobby, but he can no more refuse Hanbin than he would’ve shredded a rosebud.  He knows he’s lying to himself, but he holds fast to it all the same, because _just playing_ covers a lot of very sweet territory.

 

“Sure.”


	18. Chapter 18: Fusion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas (and/or holiday of your choosing), my loves! Thank you for being so patient with me. The chapters are coming more slowly because I'm fighting disinspiration and I'm eager to do the story justice. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Well, Junhwe thinks, if nothing else, he’s living proof that one can get used to just about anything.

 

He’d thought that their impromptu morning session would’ve been the last of it, and would’ve been perfectly—well, not _content_ —but at least relieved in some small way to no longer be driving himself doggedly toward self-destruction.

 

It’s as clear as anything to him that what he’s doing is dumb beyond words, that he really shouldn’t have taken the bait when Bobby offered it, but they’ve got their hooks in Junhwe so deeply that he wonders how long he can last before blood loss gets the better of him.  Every time he tells himself he’s got to stay away, that he’s got to put his foot down before this goes any further, he finds himself at a stalemate between what smidgen of sense God gave him and the sweet smile Hanbin throws him across the breakfast bar in the afternoon sun, or the smug, knowing little look Bobby casts him over dinner.  

 

Each time he swears he’s going to put a stop to it, they throw him a curveball that leaves him feeling like he’s been hit across the back of the neck.

 

Not that he’s outright complaining; he hasn’t gotten laid for _months_ , though he sure seems to be plowing Hanbin on the regular these days.  No, he’s not complaining at all, not about the hot kisses Hanbin bestows on him mid-scene, each one as exciting as the first intense and eager as the last.  Junhwe never comes during their scenes, never undresses, and neither does Bobby, but that’s completely beside the point.  Junhwe can always come later.  

 

It’s always, intrinsically, about Hanbin.

 

Nor does he have much to object to in watching Bobby blossom, almost before his eyes, into a much more stable and sturdy Dominant, tapping into a deep, unexpected well of vicious sadism that Junhwe enjoys watching as much as Hanbin does experiencing it.  He and Junhwe work in perfect tandem, trading power and experience and novelty to bring Hanbin to his knees.

 

Hanbin, too, has gained confidence in his own role over the last few weeks, beautifully submissive, impossibly _beautiful_.  In all Junhwe’s experience, he’s met some fantastic subs, but none that melt in his grip like this, or respond with such immediacy, trusting Bobby’s and Junhwe’s abilities in a way that can only be learned, never bought.

 

Junhwe’s completely, utterly, catastrophically _fucked_ , but he can’t stop any more than the Earth could stop spinning, lest he be flung from the surface out through the atmosphere, burning up all the way.  It’s impossible not to want to be a part of what Bobby and Hanbin had invited him into, no matter how self-destructive.  Almost anything is worth that again.

 

_You’d think I’d learn after the last time I screwed this up._

 

His thoughts drift a little further, away from the darkness of his own slow descent into self-destruction into happier territory, fondly remembering a scene they’d had only a few days before.

 

Hanbin’s arms had been tied behind his back, as usual, and Junhwe had used Hanbin’s own knotted shirt as a gag, white fabric stuffed into his mouth and soaked with spit; his necktie had served as a perfectly adequate (if admittedly rather cliché) blindfold.  Hanbin’s silver Mickey Mouse tie clip, given to him by Junhwe himself months ago, had found a new purpose as a nipple clamp.  And below that, Bobby placed a squeaky rubber duck in Hanbin’s bound hands in lieu of a safeword.  Hanbin would’ve laughed at that, if he weren’t already horribly embarrassed.

 

Then, over the course of the next God-knows-how-long (time passes very differently when he’s robbed of his senses), he’d straddled Junhwe’s leg, hips rocking against Junhwe’s thigh through his underwear, riding himself to orgasm with a supreme effort.  Junhwe had leaned back in the chair, not touching, not speaking, merely surveying Hanbin with a distant, sardonic amusement while Hanbin trembled and jerked, panting through the gag with slow-burning arousal and humiliation and a deep, satisfying exhaustion.

 

And Bobby had sat across from them, watching everything through slitted eyes, lips parted and swollen red with his own arousal.  Junhwe hadn’t been entirely sure which of them he’d been watching, but his intense, serious gaze had done funny things to Junhwe’s attention span.

 

It doesn’t usually take much to get him hard and never has, but these days it’s practically a permanent state with him, coming to a point like a bird dog every time Hanbin so much as looks in his direction.

 

Junhwe still finds it amazing that for as much of Hanbin as he’s got for himself, it doesn’t seem to be enough.  He’s seen the deepest reaches of Hanbin’s sexuality, delivered literally and figuratively into his lap, and it’s nothing short of torture for how much more Junhwe still wants.

 

He puts his head down on his desk, his cock giving an eager throb where it rubs up against the crotch of his jeans.  He ignores it, sighing deeply and covering his head with his hands, though whether to hide his face or shield himself from the weight of his own weakness, he isn’t completely sure.

 

There’s only a few days left before Christmas, and then Junhwe will have four days at home with his parents, away from Hanbin and Bobby, four whole days away from constant minor heart attacks and the endless ache in his pants.  The flood of relief at the thought of this break in stress is immediately quenched by a painful clench of his heart.  

 

He’s going to _miss_ them, that’s all.

 

So wrapped up in his own thoughts over the other two is he that when his phone suddenly vibrates loudly across the desk, he leaps upright in surprise and alarm.  He takes a moment to compose himself before answering, but he’s still a little breathless.

 

The last thing he’s expecting is the sound of that low, smoky voice on the other end of the line, and for a moment he can’t place who exactly he’s talking to.

 

“Hey, is this June?”

 

And all at once Junhwe remembers the angles of a razor-sharp smile, soft blonde hair topped with black velvet cat ears, a leather collar with a ring in it beneath the folds of a starched lapel.

 

“Yes, it is.” Junhwe says, unable to keep his sudden smile from creeping into his voice.  “Is this V?”

 

“Yeah, this is Taehyung.  V.” He amends quickly, sounding inexplicably shy.  “I’m glad you remembered, it’s been a while.”

 

“I couldn’t forget you.” Junhwe says smoothly, calmer now, leaning back in his chair.  “What can I do for you?” As if he didn’t already know.

 

“I wanted to see if you had any schedule openings.” Taehyung says, suddenly sounding much braver.

 

“Sure, yeah.  When were you looking at, and how long?” Junhwe doesn’t offer up specific times, to make himself seem more in demand than he may or may not be—an old geisha’s trick he’d learned from Yunhyeong.

 

He’s careful to keep his voice light and pleasant, too, with none of the bronze he brings into it during scenes; the resultant southerly rush of blood his Dominant tone incites tends to interfere with actual understanding of the negotiations, leading to tears and safewords later.  And above all, Junhwe wants to put his first client in months at ease.

 

“Maybe two hours.  How is Wednesday for you?”

 

“I can do that.  What kind of scene do you want?”

 

Taehyung talks Junhwe through the entire scene in affectionate detail, which Junhwe jots down in a notebook on his desk with little sounds of understanding.  He enjoys the sound of Taehyung’s low, rich voice, so deep and throaty it makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.  

 

He’d be lying to pretend he isn’t curious about Taehyung, or that he hasn’t entertained the idea of playing with him since they’d met, if only for the novelty of it all, to break up the ache of his current situation.  He’s been playing at a low level with Bobby and Hanbin, which suits all of them just fine; Junhwe’s been hesitant to push them in any direction, but they’ve been finding their own path perfectly well without his help, and as it happens, that path seems to play directly to Junhwe’s lap.

 

But all the same, it’ll be refreshing to exercise his skills, the novelty of V’s style intriguing for him after such a long dormancy.  “Alright, I’ll see you on Thursday at eight.”

 

“Sounds perfect.” Taehyung purrs, and Junhwe has to take a deep breath and set his teeth against the ripple of excited heat that courses through him from his still-hard cock.

 

Junhwe hangs up, and then puts his head back down on the desk, groaning with frustration and excitement and a strange, unhappy heaviness digging into his belly.

 

Yeah.  He’s _fucked_.

 

*

 

Junhwe’s settling the knot of his tie in front of the mirror when Hanbin peeks around the corner of his doorway, dark hair tousled and eyes scrunched with laughter.

 

“Junhwe,” He singsongs, and then stops abruptly, taking Junhwe in from head to toe with a slightly open mouth, “wow, you look fancy.”

 

“Thanks.” Junhwe says, grinning at Hanbin in the mirror.  Hanbin continues to stare, right up until Junhwe turns to look at him directly.  “What are you looking at?” He prompts, unable to decide if Hanbin’s outright ogling him or if he’s imagined it.  Regardless, Hanbin’s gaze does him no favors, and he feels suddenly very warm.

 

Hanbin blinks and comes back to himself, closing his mouth, tongue gliding across his lower lip thoughtfully.  “What are you getting all dressed up for?” He counters by way of reply.

 

“I’ve got an appointment.” Junhwe says, shrugging on his jacket and rotating his shoulders to settle it more comfortably into place.

 

“An appointment?”

 

“Yeah, I got a client.  First one in months.”  Junhwe says, grinning.  “I mean—well, you know, I moved away from most of my regular clients when I came up here, and besides, the shitty part of my reputation affected my business, too.  I hadn’t got around to advertising since the move, you know, so it was more of a fluke than anything, but…”

 

He’d expected Hanbin to smile too, to congratulate him, but Junhwe’s voice dies mid-sentence; the smile slides off Hanbin’s face almost at once, to be replaced with an unpleasant expression that Junhwe can’t quite identify—a flash of something deeply unsettling before Hanbin forces his mouth into the shape of a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, almost a grimace.

 

“That’s great.”

 

“What is it?” Junhwe says again, pausing with a hand resting on the front of his suit jacket where he’d been buttoning it.

 

“Nothing.” Hanbin says in a would-be casual way, shrugging.  “That’s exciting, Junhwe.  I’m really glad.  Congratulations.”

 

But he doesn’t look glad at all, and something about his posture, some stiffness in his neck or the tension in his face, makes Junhwe’s gut twist uncomfortably.  Hanbin shrugs again, almost compulsively.

 

Because really, it makes sense; it’s only natural that Junhwe would be looking to branch his business out, to expand his clientele in this new environment.  Bobby and Hanbin have been taking advantage of his closeness, and Junhwe hadn’t seemed to mind; Bobby had even offered to pay him for some of the more recent sessions, though Junhwe had turned him down flatly.  Whatever happened between them was theirs alone.

 

But somehow, at some stop along this meandering journey through the darkest of sensual landscapes, Hanbin had lost sight of the fact that this is a job for Junhwe, little more than work.  Junhwe belongs to no one, and Hanbin and Bobby are clients, no more, no less.  The knowledge that Junhwe’s been hired by someone else doesn’t surprise Hanbin.

 

The depth of the silent, splintering hurt it leaves behind inside him does.

 

And then, pierced in a dozen places by the shards of whatever inside him had broken apart, a maelstrom of emotions begin to pour into the sudden emptiness—poisonous, boiling jealousy, a sour stone of guilt, a deep and bewildering disillusionment, until his throat is full and his heart feels like a chunk of ice beneath his sternum.

 

He doesn’t understand why this news should make him feel this way.

 

He glances up and, seeing Junhwe still watching him suspiciously, he hitches his unconvincing smile back onto his face as best he can.  “Have a good time.” He says, turning away from Junhwe as he speaks.  “We’ll put some dinner for you in the fridge if you’ll be out late.”

 

“Um, thank you.” Junhwe says, taken aback by the abrupt dismissal.  He follows Hanbin to the doorway, frowning.  “Hanbin?”

 

Hanbin looks askance over his shoulder, showing Junhwe no more than his ear, to indicate he’s listening.

 

“Are you…okay?”

 

“Of course!” Hanbin says, turning to grin at him, with a most unconvincing stab at airiness.  “I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be?”

 

But it isn’t Junhwe’s place to press him, and after watching Hanbin warily for a second or two longer, he decides to let it drop.  

 

“Is it that cat boy from the club?” Hanbin says suddenly, returning to the kitchen and picking up his kitchen knife to chop more cabbage.

 

“Sorry?”

 

“The cat boy.  That one you met at the club.  Is that your new client?”

 

“I’m not really allowed to say.  Client confidentiality, and all that.”

 

“Oh.  Right.” Hanbin says, his cheeks reddening slightly.  He hasn’t looked at Junhwe the whole time, and Junhwe doesn’t have the time at present to bat it around with him; it’s already half past seven, and Junhwe isn’t entirely sure how long it’ll take him to get to Taehyung’s apartment.

 

Junhwe’s not entirely sure why he feels like saying it, but he says it nonetheless. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

 

Hanbin smiles without looking up at him, and it’s a tense smile like before, but this one is real.

 

“Yeah.  ‘Bye.”

 

But leaving Hanbin on such an inexplicably cold, tense note doesn’t bode well, and it gnaws at the edge of his attention like a rat as he descends the stairs, his breath streaming misty and silver from between his lips like swirls of smoke, the stairwell as bracingly chill as the kitchen had been.

 

More than likely it has nothing to do with Junhwe, and he’s overthinking it.  He pushes it away firmly, because he’s got a very pretty client waiting for him at the other end of this walk, a very pretty client who’s paying him incredibly handsomely for his services; it wouldn’t do to be late, nor would it be appropriate to show with any of his worries on his mind.

 

And with that distracting thought in mind and a healthy dose of his most potent self-control, he shoves his hands into his pockets to keep them warm, and sets off into the snow-silvered darkness.

 

*

 

Bobby arrives home some twenty minutes after Junhwe leaves.  Hanbin leaps to his feet when Bobby opens the door, crossing the room to kiss him as if he hasn’t seen him in days.

 

Bobby leans into it, looking pleased if a little surprised.  “What’s the occasion?”

 

“Huh?”

 

“You don’t usually fly at me when I come in the door, babe.  Not that I’m complaining.” He says, kissing Hanbin again and grinning.  “Everything okay?”

 

“Of course.  Are you hungry?”

 

Bobby casts him another surprised look.  “Yeah, I am.  What did you make?”

 

“Just _pajeon_.”

 

“Sounds great.  Are you sure you’re okay, babe?  You don’t seem like yourself.” Bobby says, finally shedding his jacket onto the coathook on the back of the door.

 

Hanbin smiles, more readily now than he had with Junhwe, and he shrugs nonchalantly as he busies himself over the stove.  “Nothing’s wrong.” He says, a little more flatly than he intends, and Bobby scowls but doesn’t press, instead helping set the table.

 

“Where’s Junhwe?  He’s usually home by now.”

 

Hanbin hesitates, turning his back to Bobby before answering on the pretense of checking the _pajeon_ for burning.  “He said he had a client to go meet, so he wouldn’t be home until later.”

 

“Oh.  Well, that’s good for him, I guess.” Bobby says easily over the clatter of cups and metal chopsticks on the table.

 

But after ten minutes of Hanbin prodding moodily at his plate, eating only enough to occupy his mouth, Bobby looks at him, reaching across to tip Hanbin’s face up with his hand.  Hanbin gazes back steadily, but he looks unhappy; they both know that Bobby can see it, too, thanks to the ease of long practice and interpretation.

 

“What’s the matter, babe?” He says gently, and it isn’t really a question as much as an insistence.

 

Hanbin looks away.  The thick sourness of jealousy and disappointment blocks his throat so tightly that he can barely swallow the half-bite of _pajeon_ he’s been chewing for the last five minutes.  Even if he’d wanted to tell Bobby about it, even if he’d wanted to say the word _jealous_ , he wouldn’t have been able to explain it away, and the added weight of guilt and shame makes the jealousy unbearable, stills the words on his tongue before he can taste them.

 

“Bad day at work.” He says, scowling, guiltier still for the lie as he avoids Bobby’s gaze.  

 

Bobby makes a sympathetic sound, seemingly satisfied by this explanation, and he pats Hanbin’s hand gently.  “How can I help?”

 

Hanbin gnaws on his lip, his heart pounding with a sort of dull panic, and he’s so close to spilling everything, so close to telling Bobby every heavy thought in his mind.

 

Hanbin’s had a low-grade crush on Junhwe from the start, though that’s about as predictable as the situation gets, really; hell, Hanbin’s pretty sure that _Bobby_ does, too, though he has reasonable doubts as to how aware of that Bobby himself is.  The hard part is that Hanbin’s suddenly having to face down the idea that his low-grade crush, as it were, isn’t exactly small and innocent anymore, no longer a playground interest but something weighty, smothering, like a drowsing cat curled up heavy and warm on his chest.

 

He can no longer tell the difference between his friendship and his attraction to Junhwe—which was never in question to begin with; his fiery sexuality is a lure in the dark, and Bobby and Hanbin had been drawn to it as soon as it had made itself known—and whatever this smothering heaviness weighing on him is, or even if they spring from the same source.

 

And more to that point, even if Junhwe weren’t tall, and strikingly handsome, with black eyes that could cut with the slightest sidelong glance and a mouth made for the express purpose of dominating the world around him, Hanbin would’ve still found himself bewitched, ensnared.

 

He glances up at Bobby, who’s looking at him with such tenderness and concern that Hanbin can’t even return his glance, the unhappiness inside him squirming fitfully, a sweat breaking out along his forehead with the pressure inside him.  

 

His shame gives another surge of intensity, prodding him hard in the sternum, and Hanbin almost trembles in his seat, but masters it.   How could he ever have found himself in this situation, of foolishly thinking of Junhwe as more than a friend?  How could he explain his feelings to Bobby?  How could Bobby suddenly no longer be enough to satisfy Hanbin’s selfishness?

 

“I’m fine.” He says with a little smile.  “Just need some time, that’s all.  Let’s watch a movie after dinner.”

 

Bobby beams at him, and Hanbin very nearly smiles back, but the bitterness in his mouth is too strong to do more than grimace.

 

*

 

Junhwe’s footsteps are soft, crunching in the inch-deep dusting of snow left over from their afternoon of flurries, snow that still lies in little heaps and drifts against the sides of buildings and curbs.  The wind has died down, too, and everything is soft, silver, pale in the burgeoning moonlight, dazzling in the cold stillness of the air.

 

Taehyung’s condo is near the city center, on the tenth floor of a high-rise building that Junhwe can see from a distance shouts of luxury and affluence, and it’s with profound relief and a little hiccup of excitement that he emerges from the cold into the sumptuously-decorated lobby of the building.  It looks almost more like a hotel than a living space to Junhwe’s eyes, but without a reception desk.  There’s a little coffee machine in an alcove off to the side, and a locked door showing the mail receptacles belonging to the residents through a slightly misted glass.  

 

Junhwe moves through the lobby without pausing to look around much, and he rides the elevator up to the tenth floor, still thawing out and shivering with pleasure at the heated compartment.  Then, with five minutes to spare, he taps on Taehyung’s door.  

 

It seems Taehyung’s been waiting as eagerly for Junhwe as Junhwe has for him, because the door opens almost at once.  Taehyung’s smiling up at him, every bit as pretty as Junhwe remembers—in fact, maybe more so, because his apartment is beautifully well-lit, and Junhwe can see clearly just how sharp the angles of his smile are, the hunger of his dark gaze as it rakes unsubtly up and down Junhwe’s body.  

 

That, of all the things he’s sure about tonight, is something he hasn’t imagined.

 

After a moment he notices something else:  A pair of black velvet cat ears poking out of Taehyung’s blonde hair.  He smirks.

 

“Hi.” Junhwe says.

 

“You’re early.” Taehyung says in that husky voice that makes Junhwe’s blood run hot.

 

“Too early?” A smirk curls the corner of Junhwe’s mouth, and Taehyung smiles back, one eyebrow lifting in sardonic humor.

 

“Not at all.  Come in.” He steps aside, beckoning Junhwe in, and Junhwe does so with some relief, having begun to sweat inside his heavy jacket in the heated hallway.

 

“Do you always invite the dogcatcher in so openly?”

 

Taehyung laughs aloud.  “I think I’d enjoy being caught by you.”

 

Junhwe takes off his coat and scarf and hands them to Taehyung, who understands at once and hurries them over to hang them up.  “If you’re still on board with everything we discussed, I think now is a good time to revisit any safewords.”

 

“I use _butterfly_.” Taehyung says, licking his lips briefly.  Junhwe can see now that he’s got a thin sheen of lip gloss on, and though this is hardly anything new for Junhwe, for some reason the idea makes his stomach dip excitedly.  He’ll have to try that with Hanbin later.

 

He shakes himself, refocusing with an effort on Taehyung’s eager face.  “ _Butterfly_ is fine.  Is it a pause word, or a stop word?”

 

“I’ll be directive.” Taehyung says, leaning back against the counter.

 

“Works for me.” Junhwe says, taking a step forward until he’s caged Taehyung against the counter between his arms, and he lifts one hand to scratch beneath Taehyung’s chin.  Taehyung hums with pleasure.  “Oh, but you’re missing your collar.”

 

“It’s here.” Taehyung says breathlessly, licking his glossy lips again, and he reaches slowly into his pocket to draw out the length of leather Junhwe had seen him wearing in the club last time.  Junhwe takes it from him, the weight of the ring heavier than he remembers, attached at the front to thick but surprisingly silky leather, the little silver buckle clattering against the back of his hand.

 

Taehyung tips his head back eagerly as Junhwe buckles it carefully around his neck, his lower lip between his sharp white teeth and his smile creeping across his face, his expression narrow and excited and endearingly shy.  Junhwe smiles down at him, tucking the strap behind the keeper and patting the ring over Taehyung’s collarbones.

 

“If it weren’t so cold out, I’d take you for a walk.” Junhwe muses, hooking a finger through the ring at the front and tugging him forward.

 

“Just like this, Master?” Taehyung says as Junhwe leads him to a chair by the dining table.  Junhwe allows himself a moment’s appreciation of the massive bay window over the table and the spectacular, glittering view of the city it provides.

 

“Of course not.  You’d need a leash.” Junhwe says smoothly, settling himself comfortably into a chair and pulling Taehyung down with him until he kneels at Junhwe’s feet, for all the word like an obedient puppy.  The cat ears blur the lines on which he’s supposed to be, but it doesn’t matter, because this is about more than such petty trivialities.

 

“Your collar should have a bell.” Junhwe says thoughtfully, releasing the ring to flick it back and forth.

 

“Why?  So you can hear me coming?” Taehyung murmurs, grinning.

 

Junhwe laughs out loud.  “Not with that attitude you won’t be.  You haven’t earned it.”

 

“What does Master want?” Taehyung breathes.

 

“I’m a little cold.  You might make me a cup of tea.”

 

“Yes, Master.” Taehyung gets to his feet, looking at Junhwe suspiciously but doing as he’s told, and he reaches up to take two cups from the cabinet.  Service and slavery hadn’t been in their discussion from earlier in the week, but nothing so far seems untoward, so Taehyung lets it slide, and Junhwe smiles.  He’d had permission to be creative and time to think about it, and he’s enjoying Taehyung’s surprise and hesitation, if only because it gives him an eventual lead-in for the rest of the scenario Taehyung had wanted.

 

“One cup.” Junhwe interjects, and Taehyung hesitates for a second before replacing the second cup in the cupboard, mystified and abashed by Junhwe’s intense stare.

 

As Taehyung turns to busy himself with the teacup, Junhwe catches an odd movement around Taehyung’s body which resolves itself in a swing of blackness, and then he realizes that what he’s seeing is a furry black tail hanging from the back of his jeans.  He wonders what might happen if he pulled on it.

 

Junhwe takes the cup and saucer from Taehyung and gestures at his feet without speaking, where Taehyung kneels instantly.  He blows gently on the cup, steam swirling around his face, and then takes a noisy sip, making Taehyung wait.

 

Then, finally, he leans down, placing the saucer on the floor at his feet and tipping a generous measure of tea into it, until the shallow dish is full to the brim with hot liquid.

 

“Drink it.”

 

He doesn’t miss the challenging, furtive glance Taehyung shoots him, nor does he miss the flush creeping up Taehyung’s neck into his cheeks, betraying his enjoyment.  Junhwe expects a little resistance at first in dealing with someone new, and Taehyung is proving predictable on that account.  No matter.  This is merely a softening up, a measurement made of one another, searching out tender spots to attack.

 

“What, did you think your Master would’ve let you go thirsty?  Now drink it.” He says.

 

Taehyung bends down again, licking awkwardly at the liquid in the plate now that it’s cooled down, and Junhwe hums, “If you spill any, you’ll lick it up.”  Taehyung nods, lapping steadily now, humiliated and hard and flushed with excitement.

 

Junhwe sets his empty cup on the table, and Taehyung looks up at the sound, licking drops of tea away from his lower lip.  He hasn’t finished, but that doesn’t matter; what matters is the shape of his dick inside his pants, clearly visible to Junhwe’s eyes, and he smirks, lifting the saucer onto the table.  Some leftover cold tea spills onto the floor, and Taehyung stares defiantly up at Junhwe before bending down to lick that up, too.

 

“Good boy.” Junhwe murmurs.

 

Taehyung shivers.

 

“What’s this?” Junhwe says, leaning down to hook Taehyung by the front of his collar, pulling him up until his hands scramble to brace himself against Junhwe’s knees, and he nudges Taehyung’s crotch with his boot.  “What are you hiding from me, pet?”

 

Taehyung nods, his lower lip vanishing into his mouth.  “If you roll over, I might let you hump my leg.” Junhwe says calmly, and Taehyung actually _whimpers_ at this, his hips twitching when Junhwe presses against him more firmly with the toe of his boot.

 

“I told you to roll over.  On your back.” Junhwe says sharply after a moment, and Taehyung does, swallowing hard when Junhwe crouches next to him, flicking a lock of hair out of Taehyung’s eyes.  “Would you like me to rub your belly?”

 

“Yes, Master.  Please rub my belly.” Taehyung mumbles, his hands curling into loose fists by his shoulders.  He really is too fucking cute.

 

Junhwe begins at Taehyung’s long, slender neck, tickling him playfully beneath the chin before stroking down slowly over Taehyung’s chest, taking the time to caress Taehyung’s nipples standing out sharply through the thin fabric of his white t-shirt, and then finally slipping beneath the lower hem of the t-shirt to smooth over Taehyung’s lean belly, drawing a hiss from him.  “C-cold.” He shivers.

 

“Is it?” Junhwe says, settling down more comfortably on the tile kitchen floor, stroking Taehyung’s stomach, his sides, his ribs, returning to tease his nipples.  “I thought you wanted me to rub your belly.  Did you change your mind?”

 

“N-no, Master.” Taehyung’s bare stomach ripples beneath his touch, gooseflesh rising on his forearms when Junhwe pulls his shirt up further, exposing his back to the cool tiles of the kitchen floor.  His hands smooth gently over the soft expanse of Taehyung’s tummy, teasing briefly at the dip of his navel before sliding lower, stroking coldly along the sensitive line of his hips and the waistband of his tight underwear.

 

Then, in one slow, deliberate movement, Junhwe’s hand moves to cup Taehyung through the crotch of his jeans, and Taehyung moans outright, so keyed up he can hardly help his twitch of pure response.  Junhwe smiles down at him, and Taehyung stares back wide-eyed and flushed, looking every bit the docile pet he’s pretending to be.

 

“You’re really enjoying this, hm?”

 

Taehyung nods breathlessly, squirming as Junhwe squeezes him through the fabric.  He’s flushed again, shy, not looking at Junhwe.  “Master…please kiss me.” He mumbles.

 

Junhwe’s heart quickens at that, which is a surprise in itself, and he grins.  “Anything you want, pet.” He hums, slipping his other hand beneath Taehyung’s neck to lift him gently, enjoying the renewed hiss of sensation Taehyung lets out at Junhwe’s cold hands on such sensitive skin.  He pulls Taehyung partially into his lap, his other hand resuming its roaming over sensitive places before reaching behind him to seize a fistful of Taehyung’s fake, fluffy, silky tail and deliver a gentle tug.

 

The reaction is immediate, and Junhwe catches Taehyung’s moan in his own mouth.

 

Junhwe’s gotten used to kissing Hanbin, or as used to it as he can be, and Taehyung’s style is so starkly different from Hanbin’s plush, melting, lingering kisses, his lips narrower and his kisses more aggressive for all his submissive pliance.  He takes a grip of Taehyung’s hair to remind him who’s in charge, and his other hand moves back to squeeze Taehyung’s dick again.  Taehyung groans into the kiss, and Junhwe rubs the heel of his hand along the length of him, relishing the twitch of sensation that rocks through Taehyung’s body.

 

But for all the chemistry they’d stumbled into, for all the electric tension and giddy enthusiasm, Junhwe hits a wall suddenly; all of the excitement, all of the thrill begins to bleed out of the room, punctured at the place where his mouth is locked on Taehyung’s.  

 

That doesn’t matter, not _really_ , because Taehyung isn’t paying him for chemistry; he’s paying him for Dominance.  But all the same, it has him mystified, because Junhwe’s suddenly become aware of Taehyung’s angularity, sharp in strange ways, his body awkward and not quite comfortable to hold.  He’s never been so thrown by a client before, not even Hanbin, but then he’d had time to understand what he felt about Hanbin before ever getting involved with him, and this is the opposite—getting involved with a client only to realize something isn’t quite right.

 

It isn’t even boring.  It’s _wrong_.  Something is wrong, and Junhwe doesn’t know what it is.

 

But Taehyung moans his appreciation into Junhwe’s mouth, too distracted to notice Junhwe’s preoccupation, and all Junhwe can do is pull Taehyung harder into him, rubbing him more insistently through his jeans, kissing him until his lips are bruised and Taehyung’s pleading moans fill his ears.

 

Junhwe manages to keep it together through their scene, but how, he’s not sure.  He only seems to come back to himself with Taehyung curled up in his lap, head against Junhwe’s leg and eyes closed.  It’s twenty minutes past Junhwe’s scheduled end time, but Taehyung’s fast asleep, his hair fluttering with every breath and his cat ears askew.  Junhwe doesn’t really mind that part.

 

It certainly hadn’t been his worst scene, and maybe this imbalance can be attributed to his long absence, but he feels the urge to apologize to Taehyung.  He’s not sure what exactly for, though; there’s only a seething, hollowing sense of disappointment and self-consciousness inside him, and it has him so baffled that he can only stare down at Taehyung in his lap, snoring very softly, his long eyelashes resting against his cheeks and his lips swollen and abraded from kissing.

 

“Hey.” Junhwe strokes Taehyung’s hair once, and Taehyung twitches, blinking awake at once.  “I gotta get going.”

 

“Aw.” Taehyung says through a yawn, stretching lithely, his headband finally knocked off as he rolls to one side and finally sits up off Junhwe’s leg.  “I was having a good nap, though.”

 

“I know, I’m sorry.” Junhwe says, and he really means it.  Taehyung is a wonderful client—of that, Junhwe has no doubt—and whatever’s wrong here between them is Junhwe’s own issue, not Taehyung’s.  “I hope I was able to give you what you wanted.  Was there anything I could’ve done better?”

 

“Not at all.” Taehyung shakes his head lazily, his voice still silky with sleepiness.  “It was amazing.   _You’re_ amazing.  Only…”

 

And then he hesitates, sitting up and looking at Junhwe thoughtfully, head cocked to one side.

 

“You kiss like you love someone else.”

 

Junhwe merely stares back at him with his mouth hanging open unflatteringly, reeling as if Taehyung had shoved him hard into a wall; how could he possibly _know_ —?  Was Junhwe simply that transparent?

 

“Sorry if it’s overstepping.” Taehyung says carefully, on edge with Junhwe’s sudden tension and frozen expression.  “It was just…something I noticed.”

 

Junhwe blinks, his brain suddenly unlocking, and he swallows hard to clear his dry mouth.  “Oh.  I’m…sorry about that.”

 

“Oh, don’t be sorry.  I’m perfectly happy with how things went tonight, and I’ll be calling you again, for sure.  I just would’ve liked to take you out sometime, outside of this.  If you ever want to give me a chance…”

 

Junhwe’s ready for it this time, and he smiles regretfully.  “Thank you.  That’s sweet of you.” He says, wishing he could return a different response.

 

Taehyung sees him to the door, holding his hand the whole way as if afraid of letting him go, and when Junhwe turns to bid him goodbye, Taehyung leans in to kiss him.  It’s gentle, almost proprietary, and Junhwe cups Taehyung’s jaw in response to kiss him back, enjoying it for what it is but knowing it can never be more.

 

“See you next time.” Taehyung says, and Junhwe nods, pulling his jacket on and waving as he steps out of the apartment into the warm hallway.

 

“Bye.” He waves, and then Taehyung closes the door, leaving Junhwe with nothing but the ache of a kiss on his lips and the bleak anticipation of a very cold walk home.

 

*

 

The apartment is dim when Junhwe lets himself in, the only light coming from the television, which is playing the music of the DVD menu screen into the stillness of the living room; as his eyes adjust, Junhwe makes out the shape of Bobby and Hanbin curled up on the couch together and fast asleep.  Bobby’s half-buried in the couch cushions, snapback askew against the pillow, Hanbin’s mouth slightly open against Bobby’s chest.  

 

Junhwe smiles down at them fondly, and then he whips the throw from the back of his own armchair and drapes it lightly over the both of them.  Hanbin makes a tiny noise in his sleep, a purr, and Junhwe pauses briefly overhead, afraid he’d woken them.

 

Then Hanbin sighs, closes his mouth, and tucks himself more firmly into Bobby’s chest.  After a moment in which Junhwe looks at the two of them so soft and warm together, feeling the bitter chill of the weather all the way to his soul, he leaves the living room, and turns off the TV as he does.

 


	19. Chapter 19: Nova

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for being so patient, everyone! I know updates are coming more slowly now, but they'll still keep coming, I promise :D Happy New Year lovelies!

There’s a definite feel of Christmas in the air; it’s evident in the cold, blank whiteness of the sky, threatening snowfall at any moment, in the decorations hanging in the malls and shops, in that indefinable sense of well-being that arrives alongside the Christmas lights strung along balconies and trees like so much sparkling snow.

 

Junhwe isn’t much of a holiday person—he’d kind of gotten over that in the army, honestly; what’s the point of celebrating a holiday when it looks just like every other regular day, at least from his perspective—but he finds it impossible not to enjoy Bobby’s enthusiasm, or the lure of the lights Hanbin strings up outside the living room window; or when Bobby, damp and pink-faced and breathless, proudly lugs a real Christmas tree up the four flights of stairs into the apartment.

 

“A real tree?” Junhwe says, holding the door open as Bobby squeezes past him.

 

“Yeah, well, I figure we don’t do enough to try and set the house on fire, so…” Bobby pants, finally clearing the door and showering Junhwe with fragrant pine needles.  

 

Hanbin comes down from the loft, a book tucked under his arm where he’d been relaxing on the sofa, and stops dead when he takes in the scene before him.  “What the hell?” He says mildly.

 

“It’s a dog.” Junhwe deadpans, watching Bobby struggle to prop the tree upright.  “Merry Christmas.”

 

“Woof.” Bobby makes a mocking gesture toward Junhwe with one hand, pulling his beanie off finally and tossing it on the counter.

 

Bobby and Hanbin spend the rest of the evening decorating the tree.  Junhwe makes an attempt to help, but he’s really kind of hopeless, and spends more time in Bobby’s way than in actually decorating.  To make things more irritating, Hanbin’s ornament hanging system is incredibly particular; after he swaps every single ornament Junhwe hangs, Junhwe gives up on figuring it out, sitting on the couch with the tree star in his lap, waiting for his turn.  The star is always his favorite part, anyway.

 

“Looks pretty good.” Junhwe says, leaning back to admire the effect of the white lights and silvery ornaments glittering in the deep shadows of the dark green needles, and of Bobby standing on the arm of the couch to hang the last of the ornaments.

 

“Your face looks pretty good.” Bobby shoots back blandly, and Junhwe laughs.

 

“That’s the nicest thing you ever didn’t mean to say to me.”

 

“Don’t get used to it.” Bobby hums.

 

“Here, I’ll put the star up.  I’ve got to get going as it is.” Junhwe says, getting to his feet and steadying Bobby by the elbow as he gets down from the couch.  Hanbin emerges from the bedroom carrying the first couple Christmas boxes wrapped in foiled paper, a length of Christmas garland draped around his neck like a scarf, throwing back flecks of fluttering light onto his cheeks.

 

“Go where?” Hanbin says, leaning down to push the boxes under the tree as Junhwe stands on tiptoe to place the star on top.

 

“Taking the night bus back to see my parents, so that I’ll have the morning to spend with them.  I promised them I’d see them over Christmas, since I missed the last couple years.  I’ll be gone until Monday night.”

 

“Oh, I see.” Hanbin says, distracted.  Something in him hesitates, aching at the thought of Junhwe leaving, even for such a short time; and for a bizarre, crazed half-second he wonders how he could possibly get Junhwe to stay here for Christmas.

 

But the moment passes as swiftly as it’d come, leaving only an unhappy little sag in the pit of Hanbin’s stomach as he says instead, “What should we get you for Christmas?”

 

“You don’t have to get me anything.” Junhwe says.

 

“We want to.” Bobby interjects.

 

“Uh, okay…” Junhwe says, casting around for an idea, unsure what to ask for; he usually buys himself everything he needs or wants, and the things he _truly_ wants are too expensive to ask someone else for anyway.  “My black rope is finally starting to fray, so I could use a replacement.” He says, glancing at Hanbin as he speaks, his expression darkening so briefly that Hanbin’s not sure he’s imagined the look or not.  What he hasn’t imagined is the sweep of emotion that courses through him in response, upsetting all his insides in the process, a wave of heat and guilt in equal measures that confuses his senses.

 

Bobby looks at Junhwe appraisingly for a moment, then nods.  “No problem.” He says, with a little smirk that Junhwe can’t quite read.  Hanbin looks between Bobby and Junhwe, reading something of it too.

 

“Oh, which reminds me.” Junhwe says suddenly, and Bobby half-startles, as if the last thing he’d expected Junhwe to do was speak.  Junhwe goes back to his bedroom and returns with his heavy winter coat in one hand and a heavy, rectangular package wrapped in gold paper in the other, handing it to Bobby.  Bobby takes it from him with some measure of reluctance.

 

“What’s this?”

 

“A bomb.  You disarm it by doing a stupid dance.” Junhwe says, feeling his face going inexplicably warm.  “I wasn’t sure what to get you guys for Christmas, so Jiwon, this is mostly for your birthday, but—er, you’ll probably both get some use out of it.”

 

“Oh, well, good thing I’m excellent at stupid dancing.” Hanbin says, laughing.

 

“You are not!” Bobby protests, frowning at Hanbin.  “I’ll never let you forget about _Rocket_ —”

 

Junhwe looks interested, but Hanbin claps his hands over his ears.  “Hanbin used to be a hip-hop dancer in high school, before he got too _sensible_ for that and became an accountant.  He's still got it, but he pretends not to.” Bobby adds.  Junhwe snorts.

 

“I’ll believe that when I see it.” Junhwe says, tipping Bobby a wink.  “But I’ve really gotta get going now to catch my bus.  I’ll see you guys in a few days.  Merry Christmas, or whatever.”

 

Hanbin hesitates for a fraction of a second, and then he steps forward to hug Junhwe very tightly.  “Have a good trip.” He says softly.  Junhwe, who’d expected this to some degree, hugs him in return, gratified; if he could spend the rest of his life just like this, Hanbin fitting perfectly in his arms, his soft, sweet-smelling hair tickling Junhwe’s neck…

 

He releases Hanbin fairly quickly, because it still feels strange, even a little risky, to touch Hanbin outside of the clearly defined boundaries of a scene.  As always, he’s visited by the familiar urge to kiss him, his resolve wearing thinner by the day; but instead, with a glance at Bobby, he says, “Be good, or Santa- _Harabeoji_ will bring you coal for Christmas.  Which might not be so bad, because for as generous as you guys are with the air conditioning, you sure are stingy with the heat.”

 

“Guru-Bob Santa _definitely_ brought Hanbin coal for Christmas, and that just sealed the deal for you too, Junhwe.” Bobby says inconsequentially.  “Have a good trip.”

 

Junhwe swings his coat around his shoulders and slips it on, picks up his bag, and offers them a little wave before closing the door.  Hanbin returns the wave, looking just a little morose, and Junhwe feels the echoes of it all the way down the stairs.

 

*

 

Christmas day dawns crystalline and bitter-cold as a snowflake, a fresh, loose layer of snow heaped and sparkling in the corners of the windowsills, lending itself to the pleasant atmosphere.  It feels far more like Christmas today than it has in previous, warmer years, when snow had been scarce, if present at all.  

 

The sky is the clear, deep blue of twilight, the eastern horizon vaguely clouded and just barely beginning to awaken, shot through with pink and gold and the haziest tint of green.  Bobby slurps at his coffee, admiring the string of multicolored lights Hanbin had affixed along the outside of the window, their light muted and diffused by their coating of powdery snow and retreating further in the slowly strengthening sun.

 

He finishes his coffee and leaves his cup by the sink before going into the bedroom, where Hanbin is still deeply asleep, breathing slowly, his eyes closed.  “Hey, wake up.” Bobby murmurs, slipping back into bed with Hanbin and bending down to kiss him behind the ear.  Hanbin grasps weakly at the blankets, still half-asleep, his muscles still utterly relaxed, able only to yawn his half-protest as Bobby’s warm hands coast over his bare skin.  

 

Bobby’s mouth finds Hanbin’s neck, collarbone, shoulder, and Hanbin gives a sleepy moan, stretching languorously and slinging one limp arm around Bobby’s shoulders, still not quite awake enough to do much more than let Bobby continue.

 

And so Bobby does, lower still, lips trailing down the center of Hanbin’s chest, pausing to tease sensitive flesh.  He loves Hanbin like this, heavy and pliant with relaxed warmth, still too sleepy to let the outer worries of the real world concern him just yet.  This moment is for both of them, and it’s only them, only here, only now.

 

Bobby’s hand finds the jut of Hanbin’s erection through the fabric of his underwear, and Hanbin finds his voice, still thick and velvety with sleep.  “Mmm _Jiwon_.”

 

“Mmm, Hanbin.” Bobby mimics with a little laugh, his mouth on Hanbin’s belly, which quivers a little when he rubs at Hanbin’s cock more firmly.

 

“Are you sure you wanna give me a ha—ha—” Hanbin yawns hugely, arching into a delicious languid stretch that bares his throat to Bobby’s mouth, his body to Bobby’s greedy hands, and Bobby takes full advantage.  “A—handjob before church?”

 

“I can do whatever I want.” Bobby murmurs.  “I made breakfast, if you want, and church starts at ten.”

 

“What time is it now?”

 

“Seven.”

 

“I could’ve slept in until nine-thirty, you jerk.” Hanbin says without heat, rolling his head away from Bobby’s insistent kisses but not resisting as Bobby’s hand slips inside his underwear instead.

 

“You don’t want Santa to stuff your stocking?”

 

“Jiwon, are you fucking serious?” Hanbin groans, partly at the bad joke, partly for the feel of his hand stroking Hanbin lightly, awakening all his nerve endings from their deep sleep.

 

Bobby takes his time, coaxing Hanbin awake on his terms, bypassing Hanbin’s usual wake-up patterns and keeping the rest of the world at bay with fingertips, lips, body.  Hanbin opens to him just as slowly, eyes half-lidded with drowsy excitement, pleasure coursing through him as Bobby slips his hands under Hanbin’s lower back to hold him steady, kissing him again and again with swollen lips.

 

Bobby remembers what Junhwe had told him, about Hanbin being too much of a control freak, about keeping Hanbin’s worries far away, and he’s determined to do that now.

 

He fucks Hanbin on his back just like this, slow and easy with smooth rolls of his hips, and Hanbin comes undone beneath him, melting like warm honey, loose-limbed and soft and so gorgeous it’s an effort for Bobby not to come at once.  Every moan seems muted in the vast, clear silence of the early morning, smothered into Bobby’s neck or muffled against heated skin.  They’ve got all the time in the world to enjoy this, and they take advantage of it, until Hanbin folds in against Bobby with a little desperate cry, releasing around him in slow, powerful, intense waves of liquid heat that drag Bobby under too.

 

Afterward, lying sated and warm and giddy together and in absolutely no hurry to get out of bed anymore, Hanbin rolls to one side and says lazily into Bobby’s neck, “Why don’t you wake me up like this every morning?”

 

“‘Cause we don’t usually have the apartment to ourselves.” Bobby retorts, equally serene.  “Hell, half the time we wake up with Junhwe in bed _with_ us.”

 

“Fair point.” Hanbin says, yawning and draping himself over Bobby.  They rest like that for a few more minutes, thoughts slow and untroubled.

 

Bobby’s comment about Junhwe being in bed with them had sent him on a thought chain, leading him back to their most recent scene, and Bobby finds himself recalling all the little details just as Junhwe had done before visiting Taehyung, smiling to himself.

 

Hanbin might’ve worried, but Bobby’s perfectly secure in Junhwe’s professional attitude, in the way he keeps his distance outside of the dream world they’ve built together.  Junhwe cares for Hanbin like Bobby does, as if Hanbin is his own, and how could Bobby doubt him in that?  And then, to pile on, there’s the issue that he can’t seem to get enough of watching Junhwe with Hanbin, of feeding off the energy of their chemistry.  He’d followed Junhwe down the rabbit hole of secret pleasure, and he can no longer see the surface.

 

Perhaps less like a rabbit hole, and more like a black hole.  Sucked in, and helpless to the gravity that consumes him.

 

“Didn’t you make breakfast?” Hanbin hums, breaking into Bobby’s thoughts.

 

“Yeah.  Probably cold by now.”

 

“That’s okay.” Hanbin sniffs the air thoughtfully.  “Long as nothing’s burning.”

 

“Oh, shit!” Bobby shoots out of bed, racing naked into the kitchen, and it’s a long time before Hanbin can stop laughing.

 

*

 

From Hanbin’s perspective, church—especially Christmas morning church—is a long, protracted, very boring affair he could really do without, but he’s been going to Christmas services for as long as he’s known Bobby (at first, to win him over; afterward, because Bobby insisted) and created his own necessary suffering.

 

So he sits stiffly in the pew next to Bobby, doing his best to stay alert while Bobby prays next to him, trying not to let the powerfully dull voice of the preacher put him straight to sleep.  He’s got nothing to say that’s of interest to Hanbin, so he lets his thoughts wander, back to the house, drifting over the presents waiting for them under the fragrant green tree, already beginning to shed its needles onto the floor.  He wonders idly what Junhwe is up to halfway across the country, happily imagining him bundled up comically against the cold; shopping with his mom, and complaining about how heavy the packages are; helping with Christmas dinner (Hanbin stifles a little laugh into his sleeve—Junhwe’s definition of _help_ is pretty loose in this case); looking down at him from above, a wicked smile on Junhwe’s lips just below his narrowed, intense eyes…

 

Hanbin startles and then tries to look as if he hadn’t, flushing with embarrassment as he remembers where he is.  Bobby casts him a little look of surprise, or interest, or annoyance—it’s too brief for him to decide what—and Hanbin looks back dispassionately before returning his attention to the boring, bland voice of the preacher, thanking a God he doesn’t entirely believe in that the man is such a boner-kill.

 

*

 

As it happens, Junhwe is doing none of those things at that moment, sitting across the dinner table from his mother, a cold cup of milky coffee in front of him.  

 

His mother pours him some more, in full flow about her work and her New Years’ plans, and Junhwe listens with interest, interjecting little.  They’d finished breakfast, but with not much to do until Junhwe’s father—who’s still sleeping after an overnight shift at the hospital—wakes up, they spend the morning idling about the house, talking together.

 

She regards him with a warm smile, leaning on a hand thoughtfully, and Junhwe smiles back at her, still shy of this kind of unconcealed admiration, even if it is from his own mother.  Then she says, rather unexpectedly, “Hard to believe you’re getting to be almost thirty, sweetheart.”

 

“I’m not _that_ close, mom.” Junhwe grins.  “I’ve still got a ways to go before that hurdle.  It’s just my good fortune that you guys gave me excellent genetics, so at least I don’t look it.”

 

She laughs.  “You’re right!  Your father was a very handsome man when he was your age.  Still is.” She adds chivalrously.  Suddenly, however, her tone becomes more serious, in that not-quite-offhand way that mothers seem to have, the one with the undercurrent of disappointment, of frustration and impatience with her children’s foolishness.  “I was really talking more about your future than your current state.  Don’t you think it’s time to settle down?  I mean…”

 

Junhwe’s eyelids flinch slightly, and he takes a wary sip of coffee, his blood rapidly icing over in his veins.  Sick guilt gives a squirm in his gut, but he swallows hard to govern it, cup clattering loudly on the table.   _Sure, mom_ , he thinks, _I’d love to settle down.  Problem is, I’m only in love with another man’s husband.  No big deal.  I’m sure it’ll all work out fine_.

 

“Mom, we’ve been through this already.” Junhwe cuts her off in a flat voice, not looking at her.  The bitter ghost of his coffee suddenly tastes like ashes in his mouth, dry and choking him.  “I’m gay.”

 

“I know that, sweetie.”

 

“Well, evidently you don’t get it.” Junhwe says, scowling, folding his napkin as his temper gives a sudden lurch.  “I’m not marrying a woman.  You aren’t going to get grandkids out of me.  Hell, you’ve already _got_ a grandkid.”

 

“I wasn’t talking about that.” She says, a little sternly, almost as if warning him.  “I’m okay with you being…gay.  It wasn’t easy for me, but your dad and I…we’ve accepted that.”

 

“Thank you.” Junhwe says tersely.  

 

“I’m just concerned that you’re lonely, that’s all.” She says thoughtfully.

 

“I’m not lonely.” Junhwe says quickly, looking up at her, screwing up his expression.  “I don’t…I’m just enjoying being single right now.  I haven’t met anyone I want to be with.”

 

“Namjoon is single now, I saw him just a few days ago.  Why don’t you go out with him?”

 

“No.”

 

“Are you too shy?  I could set you up, if you are.”

 

“Mom, have you ever known me to be shy about anything?” Junhwe says, trying to lighten the tone.  She laughs.

 

“What’s wrong with Namjoon?  You always liked him when you were younger.”

 

He heaves a sigh, rubbing his face, his irritation finally dying out as he thinks of Yunhyeong, of Hanbin and Bobby, of Taehyung.  “I wouldn’t be able to give Namjoon what he needs in a relationship.”

 

“You should at least go on a date with him.  Get to know him.” She presses.

 

“I _do_ know him.  He drives me crazy.” Junhwe says, shaking his head.  “I promise, mom, it’s okay.  I’m not hiding from the world, just…not ready yet.” And only he really knows he’s hiding his relationship from the world, from his family, because even _he’s_ not completely sure what’s happening, only that it’s too complex, too painful to acknowledge the truth.

 

But then, he’s not just hiding his mess with Hanbin and Bobby—he’s hiding his own eyes, too.

 

There’s a pause, and then she says quietly, almost absently, “Is there someone special already?”

 

Junhwe accidentally knocks his coffee cup over, staining several feet of white tablecloth brown and sparing himself the trouble of a reply.

 

*

 

The walk home from church is snowy and bitter, with a sudden wind cutting across their cheeks like knives.  It’s with profound relief that Hanbin and Bobby let themselves into the blissfully warm apartment, shedding their coats and scarves only reluctantly.

 

“Presents now!” Hanbin says happily, hanging up his coat.

 

“You get to be Santa today, so I’ll get wine while you dole out presents.”

 

“Didn’t you say this morning that _you’re_ Santa?” Hanbin says slyly.

 

“Did I?” Bobby raises an eyebrow thoughtfully.

 

“Oh, come on, I very definitely heard you say ‘ _let Santa stuff your stocking’_ , Jiwon.”

 

Bobby winces.  “Oh, fuck.  I was hoping you’d forget that…”

 

“Not when it’s that bad.” Hanbin pokes him, and Bobby giggles, flinching away from Hanbin’s tickling.

 

“Okay, okay, _fine!_   _I’ll_ be Santa.  You go get wine.”

 

Ten minutes later, Hanbin settles on the sofa, handing Bobby a glass of wine while Bobby pulls on a Santa hat, the white puff ball at the end dangling in front of his eyes.  He wastes a moment or two wobbling his head back and forth to make the end of the cap spin like a helicopter for Hanbin’s amusement, and then he passes Hanbin a little wrapped package from under the tree.

 

Hanbin, as usual, takes his time unwrapping, so Bobby starts on one of his own in the meantime:  The glossy gold finish of the tidy rectangular package Junhwe had given him, with _Merry Birthday_ printed neatly on the front.

 

“Oh, wow, Junhwe.” Bobby whispers, tearing the paper off more completely.  Hanbin, distracted from his own endeavor, leans across his own package to peer at what Bobby’s just unwrapped.  It’s a book, a heavy, hardcover coffee table book, but the cover is plain and dark, with only a silvery title printed along the spine that Hanbin’s too far away to read.

 

“What’s that?”

 

“Look!” Bobby says, still sounding breathless, and he holds it out for Hanbin.  It’s so heavy he has to take it in both hands, and then he holds it up to read the tiny title inked in silver: _The Art of Kinbaku._

 

“Oh.” Hanbin says admiringly, setting aside his half-unwrapped gift to flip the book open at random.  Inside are beautiful glossy photographs, instructions, suggestions… Hanbin flips a few pages slowly, mouth slightly open.  “Wow, Jiwon, this is…this is really something.”

 

He hands it back carefully, and Bobby takes it from him, shaking his head, unable to articulate just how this makes him feel.  This is more than just a book, far more than a simple gift; this is a nod to Bobby’s style, an acknowledgement by Bobby’s own mentor, as if Junhwe’s saying _here, you’re ready, you’re a_ real _Dom now._

 

Which would’ve made Junhwe laugh, because of course, it’s silly; Bobby’s _always_ been a real dom, both in Hanbin’s and Junhwe’s eyes.  In his own, however, he’d always measured Junhwe as the standard, the acknowledgement he’d been vying for.  A deep glow of pride rises in his chest, feeling like a god, like a king, to have gained Junhwe’s approval.

 

And it’s a nod to Hanbin’s liking as well, with so many creative and beautiful options contained inside, and Bobby’s of half a mind to cast all the other gifts aside and get to work.  He reins that urge in, however, and sets the book aside very gingerly, with an affectionate pat to the cover.  “I know what _you’re_ getting for Christmas.” He remarks absently, turning back to Hanbin.

 

“Don’t you threaten me.” Hanbin deadpans, finally sliding the last of the paper off his first gift.

 

Hanbin unwraps first a new pocketknife from his own parents, and a set of soft, fluffy pajamas from Bobby’s mom (Bobby receives a set too, but the sizes are backwards, so Hanbin trades his with Bobby).  Bobby, along with his new book, discovers a pair of producer’s headphones from Hanbin, some designer clothing from his older brother, and a huge box of homemade candy from Hanbin’s family.

 

“Good haul this year.” Hanbin says, helping himself to a chocolate cookie from Bobby’s box while Bobby excitedly tries out his new headphones.

 

“Pretty good.” Bobby agrees, nodding.  The headphones fall off his head into his lap, but he sets them aside.  “Except we’re not done yet.”

 

“Hmm?”

 

Bobby pulls out a shoebox-sized package from under the tree and sets it on Hanbin’s lap, grinning so widely Hanbin’s suspicious at once.  “This one is from me.”

 

Hanbin picks it up and shakes it, but it’s so heavy that he quickly puts it back down.  “What the hell is it?” He says, picking curiously at the tape on the side.

 

“Lump of coal, like I said.” Bobby says with a grin.  “Go ahead, open it.”

 

Hanbin, excited now, moves more quickly, using his new pocket knife to slit the tape and unwrap it.  The box is recycled, taped heavily with duct tape, and Hanbin shakes his head with good-natured annoyance before slitting that too.

 

And, typical of Bobby’s sense of humor, the box is full of rocks, which accounts for the weight.  “You weren’t kidding.” Hanbin says, more amused than disappointed.  Bobby, however, nods toward the box encouragingly, and Hanbin begins to paw aside the rocks, setting the larger ones on the couch beside him where they roll down into the depression along his legs.

 

And at the bottom, buried beneath the rocks, is a tiny box, this one made of blue velvet.  With a fast-beating heart, Hanbin retrieves it in shaking fingers, looking up at Bobby in disbelief.  Bobby nods again, more eagerly, and Hanbin pops it open.

 

He finds himself reeling, the wind completely emptying from his lungs, because even though he knew what it was at once, had expected this from the moment he’d seen it—nothing could’ve prepared him for the little gold ring glittering in the velvet holder, with a single green stone set along the edge.  Along the roof of the little velvet box is Bobby’s untidy scrawl, the pen having bled into the white satin slightly, but still legible:   _Marry me?_

 

And then the tears come, hot and fast on Hanbin’s cheeks before he can even draw breath.  He rubs hastily at his face with the edge of his shirtsleeve, but he can’t stop the flow, sniffling to control the sudden running of his nose.

 

“You like it?” Bobby says, beaming, moving to sit on the couch next to Hanbin.  Hanbin’s breath hitches in a sob, and he can’t speak.  He holds out the little box to Bobby mutely, and Bobby takes it from him.  “Pretty good for a lump of coal, huh?”

 

Hanbin’s laugh is a racking sob, and he holds out his left hand, his right still mopping his eyes.  Bobby takes Hanbin’s hand in his, while his other hand pulls the ring from its box and holding it between index finger and thumb.  “You just gotta do one thing for me, babe.”

 

Hanbin makes a tiny, weak, questioning sound, still speechless around the hard knot of tearful joy in his throat.

 

“Say yes.”

 

“Yes!  Of course, you idiot, _yes!_ ” Hanbin bursts out, and then he’s crying for real now as Bobby slips the ring on Hanbin’s finger.  It’s a perfect fit, and Hanbin throws himself at Bobby, burying his face in his shoulder, too overwhelmed, too joyful.

 

“Told you getting a roommate would be a good thing.” Bobby says, entwining his fingers with Hanbin’s and toying with the shape of the ring.  After so long together, they’d gotten comfortable with each other, secure in their commitment, but there’s something incredible and special about the symbol of the ring that Bobby can’t explain, only a fullness in his heart that’s almost painful for the deep and giddy happiness suddenly crowding his insides.

 

“Merry Christmas, Hanbin.” Bobby says, and for the first time, his voice cracks a little, too.

 

*

 

Junhwe’s phone vibrates against his belly, and he checks it lazily, being alone in front of the television on Christmas night, full of takeout and watching _Running Man_ reruns until an appropriate time to go to bed rolls around.

 

It’s from Bobby, an enthusiastic message full of smileys and exclamation points, thanking him for the book.  Junhwe texts back a _no problem_ , grinning to himself.   _Get anything else good for Christmas?_

 

In response, Bobby sends a picture.

 

Junhwe taps it curiously, and an image of Hanbin’s left hand fills the screen, a golden band on his ring finger.   _He said yes!!!!!!_ says Bobby’s text, and Junhwe finds himself standing suddenly, though he isn’t aware of having gotten up.  His overly-full stomach aches in protest of such swift movement, but Junhwe ignores it, staring at the picture on the screen, too thrilled, too excited to sit down again.

 

 _Of course he did, lol_ , Junhwe texts back, his heart thumping with giddy happiness.   _Good job, he finally agreed to tolerate you on an official level_

 

_Damn straight_

 

A part of him registers surprise at how little hurt he feels at this sudden news, and what concern this does invoke in him seems small in the magnitude of his second-hand excitement.  Junhwe snaps a picture of his own left hand and texts it back to Bobby with a grin.

 

_Find me one too when you get a chance_

 

Bobby’s reply comes back instantly.   _I’ll keep an eye out ;)_

 


	20. Chapter 20: Supernova

Junhwe’s excitement over Bobby and Hanbin’s happy news doesn’t survive the night, though truth be told he hadn’t expected it to; he’s given too much of himself to Hanbin not to be thrilled at the idea of having that taken away from him after all this time.  In its place develops a new sense of anxiety that plagues him for the rest of the day, something attached in strands to his insides, each new thought pulling his heart painfully against his breastbone.  Will they still want him, or does this new development in their relationship shut him out for good?  Perhaps it’d be best if it _does_ , but that doesn’t mean he wants it to.

 

Junhwe had expected some relief being away from the two of them, but it seems there is no escape, because the only relief he’s feeling now is that of finally going back to the two of them, no matter what’s waiting at the other end.  He’d missed them, and he doesn’t realize just how much they’d missed him, too.

 

He’s sore when he finally gets off the bus in the evening, and he’d expected it to be much later than it actually is, given how dark it is outside; but at this rate it’s early enough that he’ll beat Hanbin home from work.  

 

But he lets himself into the apartment, only to immediately encounter Hanbin’s arms wrapped around him and Bobby’s little exclamation of welcome, and only then does Junhwe get a sense of how much they’d _really_ missed him.  It makes him smile, to know that nothing’s really changed, that he’s still a part of them, no matter how inconsequential that part might seem.

 

And Hanbin, chattering happily, divests Junhwe of his coat and bag without waiting for so much as a hello, and steers him to the table for dinner.  Junhwe allows this with amusement, catching Bobby’s eye and sharing a grin with him; Bobby pulls a funny face and taps his own left hand with a finger, as if to say _he’s been like this all weekend, and it’s entirely my fault._  Junhwe laughs right along with him, and it feels like a little secret shared between them.

 

“Alright, Hanbin, let him breathe, babe.” Bobby says through a laugh, dishing rice into bowls, and Hanbin flushes, smiling apologetically at Junhwe.

 

After dinner, Bobby presents Junhwe with a large, battered, hastily wrapped box, the very same one he’d wrapped Hanbin’s ring in, though with fewer rocks.  Junhwe opens it on the couch, and as he’d expected—sort of—is his one Christmas request, a spectacular length of beautiful, glossy, silky black rope.

 

The _sort of_ is that the rope itself is something special.  Junhwe had been expecting something utilitarian, something practical—not because of Bobby’s knowledge levels, but because of availability, of simplicity, of price—but this is on another level altogether, and Junhwe pulls one end out of the coil, admiring the softness of the fibers.  To his hand it’s something special, like real silk, or a very close approximation.  He sets the box aside, still touching the rope, thoroughly impressed.

 

“D’you like it?” Bobby asks, rubbing the back of his neck.

 

“Course I do.” Junhwe says, holding out the end for him to feel, and Bobby takes it thoughtfully.  “What’s it made out of?  I’ve never had a rope like this.”

 

“Bamboo silk.” Bobby says, still sounding uncertain.  “I wasn’t sure if you’d ever had any, but I thought…you know, maybe it’d be nice to try.”

 

“This had to be really expensive.  Are you sure you want to give me something this nice?”

 

“Yes.” Bobby says firmly.  “I mean…it’s the least I could do for you.”

 

What he’s really trying to say, but can’t quite find the words when Junhwe’s looking directly at him like that, is that for all Junhwe’s help and guidance, this is only a small way of paying him back for it.  And what Junhwe hears in Bobby’s _it might be nice to try_ is _try it immediately on Hanbin._

 

“You’re right, I’ve never had any, but I really like it.” Junhwe says, taking the end of the rope from Bobby when he hands it back.  “I’m looking forward to trying it out.  Thank you.”

 

Bobby beams at him.

 

*

 

And finally, it comes about like this, in which Junhwe’s third and most disastrous mistake yet practically falls into his lap.

 

He’s been home only a few hours at most; looking back, he couldn’t have honestly seen this coming, and has no idea how he’d ended up here.  

 

A friendly New Years’ Eve game of cards had turned savage very quickly under the influence of a couple of beers, and without it ever being spoken aloud, somehow Hanbin had become both the prize and the victim.

 

Bobby (and Junhwe, following Bobby’s lead, not to mention a rediscovered heat in his blood, once he’d caught on) spend the entirety of the game cheating Hanbin systematically and unblushingly out of his clothing.  Hanbin hands each item over only reluctantly, cheeks hot with shame as he passes Bobby his shirt, Junhwe his belt, and finally pants and socks too, until he’s cross-legged on the floor in his underwear, scowling flushed and flustered down at his dismal poker hand, and shivering with a combination of embarrassment and cold.

 

And at one point, luck does in fact favor Hanbin where he lacks the skill to successfully cheat, and he throws down his cards with a huff of spiteful triumph.  Against all expectations, he points at Junhwe, scowling.  “Give me your shirt.” He demands, and Junhwe looks at him coldly for a moment before pulling his t-shirt over his head and passing it over.

 

It’s the first time he’s ever removed more than his tie in front of the two of them, and it makes him feel exposed and off-balance in a way he’s not used to, though it must be said he isn’t entirely opposed to it, either.  This fact isn’t lost on Hanbin, either, who looks Junhwe up and down hungrily for a second before turning back to Bobby, pulling Junhwe’s shirt on over his bare chest with relief.

 

Bobby himself even takes a moment to appreciate the fact that Junhwe’s half-naked in their presence for the first time.  He’s slender, far more so than his clothing makes him look, long-limbed and graceful, though his shoulders are broad and his skin golden and smooth.

 

And then Bobby lays down a devastating hand without looking at Hanbin, and snipes his newly-won shirt right off his back.  Hanbin hands it over again with a frown, folding his arms across his bare chest.

 

As a child, spur-of-the-moment games were always the most fun, while subsequent returns to the same game seemed less so, suddenly too rigidly defined, or perhaps no longer novel enough for his sense of wonder, requiring a different context to channel his curiosity and sense of exploration.  As he’d grown up, he’d discovered a renewed liking for these scripted returns to his favorite game.  This is somewhere in between, but either way, it’s a _very_ fun game.

 

“I win.” Bobby proclaims, and Junhwe, distracted, frowns at Bobby.

 

“Hey, but—” He starts indignantly, and then falls silent at the glance Bobby gives him.  Hanbin, pouting, slaps his cards down on the table.  Junhwe catches his meaning, and redirects himself mid-sentence.  “—didn’t know you were such a sore loser, Hanbin.” He says instead, in an effort to sound casual.

 

“That’s not all that’s about to be sore.”

 

Hanbin looks sharply up at Bobby, and Junhwe blinks too, as surprised as if Bobby had just slapped him, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up.  “I won, so I get to decide what to do with you.” Bobby continues, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, looking down at Hanbin along the bridge of his nose.  He looks so aggressive and smug that Hanbin’s not sure if he wants to yell or kneel.

 

He doesn’t have to decide.

 

“Why don’t you come over here and blow me?”

 

Hanbin hesitates then, uncertain, looking back and forth between Bobby and Junhwe, thrown by this sudden advance into new territory, and yet all too eager to obey; he’s simply waiting for the signal, for permission, though from which of them—or permission for what—he’s not completely sure.

 

Hanbin casts another nervous glance, not at Bobby, but at Junhwe, only to find him staring back steadily, as dark-eyed and composed and distantly amused as he always is.  Junhwe leans forward in his cushy armchair, smirking a little wider.  “Hyung told you to do something, Hanbin.  Are you going to do it, or do you need me to come over there and make you?” He says slowly.  Hanbin shakes his head, and Junhwe regards him thoughtfully for a moment more.  “Perhaps you need me to show you how to do it.”

 

Hanbin doesn’t reply, looking askance at Junhwe one last time before shuffling obediently forward on his knees until he’s in front of Bobby, eye to eye with Bobby’s undone belt buckle.

 

“Go ahead.” Bobby says softly, threateningly.

 

Hanbin reaches up to lower Bobby’s fly, his hands shaking with excitement, so intensely conscious of Junhwe’s presence in the same room, both embarrassed and eager for Junhwe to see this, to see Hanbin like this.  Maybe, if he’s _very_ good, _maybe_ he’ll get to taste Junhwe too…

 

But more curiously than everything else so far is that none of it bears the usual hallmarks of Junhwe’s or Bobby’s styles of Dominance, nor does it seem wholly like BDSM, at least as far as any of them would’ve described it.  No, this carries the intoxicating scent of something hot and wild and visceral, like the pressure in the air just before a thunderstorm.  It’s the smell of sweat, of bodies sliding together, of desperation:  The whole room reeks of sex, or the anticipation of it, and Junhwe’s as intoxicated and helpless to stop it as he would be to stop the pouring rain.

 

Junhwe finally loses patience, and he gets to his feet in one smooth motion that makes Hanbin flinch and Bobby look up in surprise.  He steps over the edge of the coffee table and around Hanbin, leaning down and stroking one hand slowly over Hanbin’s hair before seizing a tight handful and urging him forward.  “I said _suck_.” He says sharply.

 

Hanbin’s lips part in a gasp of surprised pain, and then Junhwe pushes him down, the head of Bobby’s cock brushing his lips.  Clumsily, he takes Bobby into his mouth, cheek distending with the odd angle, and Bobby growls.  “No teeth.” He says, and Hanbin’s eyebrows furrow in frustration, or apology, or apprehension.

 

But then Junhwe’s grip on his hair eases, and Hanbin readjusts, finding a rhythm that has Bobby panting within moments.  He makes a low, rough, harsh noise of pleasure, and the sound seems to send a ripple of giddy excitement through the room, or to jostle the thickness of the atmosphere, a tremor of delicious tension.  Hanbin’s responding moan is something Junhwe can feel through his fingertips around Hanbin’s neck as much as hear through the thunder of his own pulse, and see in the arch of Hanbin’s back between Junhwe’s knees.

 

No doubt it’s the wine, but the whole situation is swerving wildly out of Junhwe’s control, very definitely starting with Junhwe’s mouth, because he says aloud in a heated voice quite unlike his usual tones, “Hyung never told me you looked so good sucking cock.”

 

Bobby grins at this, looking down at Hanbin with half-lidded eyes and tongue between his teeth.  Junhwe, emboldened, continues in a whisper, half speaking honestly, half playing a role that’s rapidly slipping away as he becomes more and more caught up.  “Almost makes me wonder what you could do with mine.”

 

Hanbin shivers with excitement, and Bobby growls as Hanbin redoubles his efforts, the wet sounds of his mouth loud over Bobby’s panting breaths.

 

“Don’t swallow, Hanbin.  I want you to show me how good you are.” Junhwe murmurs, holding Hanbin with thumbs bridging the back of his neck, fingertips spanning his jawline as he pushes Hanbin down firmly on Bobby’s cock to gag him briefly.  Hanbin lurches, jerking in Junhwe’s hold; Junhwe relents then only slightly, easing the pressure of Bobby’s cock prodding the back of his throat.  

 

Then, feeling Bobby’s eyes on him, Junhwe looks up to meet his narrow, intense gaze.  Without warning, Bobby’s expression tightens, then crumples, coming so suddenly he can’t stifle the growl in his throat or prevent the upward jerk of his hips; and not once does he look away from Junhwe, the muscles in his jaw working furiously.

 

Junhwe’s mouth goes dry, and he licks his lips to wet them, distracted from his task of controlling Hanbin by the curiosity of Bobby’s orgasm.  Finally, Bobby shoves Hanbin’s head away urgently with a shudder, and Hanbin sits back on his heels, rubbing the back of his hand across his spit-slicked chin.

 

“Show me.” Junhwe says softly, and Hanbin leans his head back to show him the evidence of Bobby’s orgasm thick and white on his lips and tongue.  Junhwe sweeps two fingers across Hanbin’s lips, pushing them into Hanbin’s mouth.  He can feel the firm grip he’s got on himself rapidly failing, but he doubles down on his own self-restraint, only for it to slip out from beneath him entirely.  He won’t realize it until much later.  “Swallow it, and don’t forget to thank your hyung.”

 

Hanbin mumbles something thick and incoherent around Junhwe’s knuckles, tongue playing across the pads of his fingers.  Bobby laughs raggedly, still too breathless and exhausted to speak.

 

Hanbin’s little moan of excitement is muffled again when Junhwe suddenly pulls him upright by a handful of hair and kisses him right then, tongue sweeping unresisted into Hanbin’s mouth and tasting the sticky salinity of Bobby’s cum, and beneath that the taste of Hanbin himself, a strike to his senses as heady and potent as snake venom.

 

“ _Fuck_.” Bobby finally groans, his voice gravelly and raw.  Junhwe makes a questioning noise in response, but he’s barely listening.  “Bedroom.   _Right fucking now._ ”

 

Bobby shoves himself awkwardly back into his pants, the motion attracting Junhwe’s attention.  Then he scoops Hanbin up and tosses him over his shoulder like a trophy kill, to a surprised little yelp from Hanbin.

 

Bobby turns to look at Junhwe, who hesitates slightly; then Bobby tosses his head in the direction of the bedroom, as if to say _you, too_.  With a surge of relief and excitement that borders on hysteria, Junhwe snatches up the length of black silk rope from the side table with hands that only just tremble, and follows.

 

*

 

Damnation is in the details.

 

Hanbin can feel everything, hear everything, and yet somehow he’s distant, separated from it as if it’s all happening to someone next to him.  Junhwe’s sensuous, throaty, low murmurs glide across the surface of his skin on the ghost of a hot breath, his smooth voice mixed with the rasp of Bobby’s growls, and the tightness of Junhwe’s grip on his wrists is only just this side of painful.  The ring of his collar presses hard into his collarbone, sandwiched between bed and body.  

 

He’s eclipsed behind the shadow of physical sensation, sinking into that comfortable, dreamy space hollowed out just for himself.  Everything runs together like hot wax, his brain no longer keeping up as he drifts calmly on the open sea.  

 

It’s a heady saturation of pain-pleasure-restraint-freedom, doing so many damning things to his mind that he’s amazed he can even think at all, because he can no longer tell if he’s upside down, inside out, flying or sinking.  Pliant, deliciously obedient, he’s in fact pinned to the mattress belly-down, with Junhwe sitting heavy on Hanbin’s shoulders, holding his wrists behind his back while Bobby spanks his bare ass again and again.

 

Bobby’s been on fire since he’d dragged Hanbin into the bedroom with Junhwe in tow, burning wild and intense, a man possessed; not that any of them are particularly worried by this.  In fact, Junhwe finds himself impressed at Bobby’s balance, appreciating the counterpoints of his cold control doused with sexual heat, both of which have Junhwe reacting almost as quickly as Hanbin.

 

“Jiwon.  Hey, _Jiwon_.”

 

Bobby doesn’t immediately register the sound of Junhwe’s voice, or that Junhwe’s gotten up onto his knees; he finally glances up only when Junhwe catches him by the wrist as he draws back for yet another slap.  It takes a moment for the wild excitement to fade from his expression.  

 

Junhwe had felt it in the shortness of Hanbin’s gasping breaths, in the weak pull of Hanbin’s wrists against his tight grip, and he’d moved at once to ease the pressure on his lungs.  Bobby’s too caught up, however, and Hanbin too dazed and delirious to call out his need.  “Take it easy for a minute.  He needs a break.”

 

Junhwe’s tone is gentle, almost a whisper, but Bobby flinches as if Junhwe had struck his hand away; he lets his arm drop limply to his side, the tension in his face slackening.  His breath comes in sudden panting gasps.  Junhwe swings himself off Hanbin’s back, easing his arms down onto the bed to relax for a moment.

 

Bobby finds himself trembling, the spell broken by Junhwe’s tone, the intensity rushing out of him.  He caresses Hanbin’s sore, reddened ass with a hesitant hand, almost as if frightened, and Junhwe can see it plainly in Bobby’s scowl; he’s ashamed of having lost control, of letting passion overwhelm him.  

 

More than anything, Junhwe aches to reassure Bobby that he’s doing fine—hell, _way_ more than fine—but he hesitates, unsure of what to say.  The unhappiness in Bobby’s face makes something hurt, but Junhwe doesn’t know what it is, only that he’s been there too, and it’s a hard thing to forgive himself for.

 

Bobby’s smile is full of doubt, and Junhwe nudges him gently on the shoulder, their faces very close as Junhwe leans down to speak half into Bobby’s ear, half against his cheek in a rush of warm air.  “Hey.  You’re doing really well.  It’s okay.”

 

“Yeah.” Bobby says, taking a deep breath.

 

“You alright?” Junhwe prompts.

 

“Yes.” Bobby says stubbornly, avoiding Junhwe’s eye.  Somehow it feels more probing, more embarrassing for Junhwe’s concern; does Junhwe really think he can’t control himself?  Bobby looks away, managing to push it aside for now, and his voice comes out a little stronger when he says, “Let’s keep going.”

 

Junhwe nods, smiling at him, and then he leans over Hanbin this time, brushing his damp hair back out of his eyes.  “How about you?  Doing okay?”

 

Hanbin moans, muffled and breathless.  “Okay,” he says, “s’fine, mmokay.  Keep going.”

 

“Good, because I’m not done with you yet.” Bobby says, grinning up at Junhwe.  Junhwe laughs under his breath, reassured.

 

Hanbin had thought the spanking would’ve been the end of it, but no; that was only a softening up, and then Bobby had chosen a rope tie from his new book for Junhwe to try out with his new rope; one of them had taken Hanbin’s ring off and placed it on the bedside for safekeeping.  That’s the last thing Hanbin remembers with anything like coherence.

 

They’d foregone blindfolding him this time, but Hanbin’s eyes are closed so tightly that he may as well have been.  He can feel someone’s hands on his hips and a soft mouth tracking along the slope of his shoulder, can hear Junhwe and Bobby speaking in low, rough voices, sometimes at the same time, all of it meaningless nonsense to his addled brain; he can taste lips and moans and breath, but he’s no nearer to being able to open his eyes.

 

It’s impossible not to be aroused, but Hanbin’s surpassed that mark a long time ago, desperately hard and his body almost painfully hyperaware in contrast to his mind, which had taken its leave of him at around the same point.  

 

When Bobby twists a hard hand into the ropes lashed across Hanbin’s chest and kisses Hanbin possessively, he moans outright, greedy, hungry.  It’s equally impossible not to react when Junhwe’s delicately masculine hand grazes his chin, spans his entire jawline for a moment.  He pushes two fingers past Hanbin’s parted lips to play slickly over his tongue, and Bobby laughs breathlessly, licking the corner of Hanbin’s mouth around Junhwe’s fingers.

 

Bobby pulls a little harder, the grip of his hand tightening the knots and lines across the rest of his body in delicious ways, Hanbin’s desperation beginning to affect him again.  Junhwe’s glad to see he’s regaining some confidence, too, especially when he says,

 

“Slut.  I bet you want to get fucked, right?” He says, the bite in his tone like teeth in Junhwe’s own flesh.  Bobby’s still a little worn out, still not hard again yet after Hanbin had sucked him off in the living room, so part of him is creatively stalling for time, the other part enjoying watching Hanbin squirm.

 

“Oh god, please, please, hyung…” Hanbin says, and his voice is slurred, whiny and breathless.

 

“Give me a good reason why I should.”

 

“ _Please_ , I want it so b-bad, please, h-hyung…” Hanbin begs through swollen lips.

 

“Not good enough.” Bobby says coldly.  Hanbin hiccups with desperation, near tears, trembling with intensity.  He’s entirely naked, body and soul and heart, and his cock so hard it’s leaking, a thread of clear precum strung from his thigh to the swollen, smooth head.  A part of Junhwe aches to touch him for the first time, to feel him pulsing in the palm of his hand; but a much bigger part of him is, like Bobby, enjoying keeping Hanbin on the edge like this.

 

He doesn’t know why, but he looks up at Bobby, and catches Bobby staring back at him with a curious expression set in the lines between his eyebrows and the little forward thrust of his jaw, in the glittering intensity of his dark eyes.  Bobby smiles at Junhwe, who smiles back hesitantly, not sure what to make of it.  He simply finds that he likes that look on Bobby more than he’s prepared to admit to himself.

 

And Bobby does, in fact, have an _amazing_ idea.

 

“P-please…”

 

“Maybe you’d better ask someone else.” Bobby hisses, still not looking away from Junhwe.  “Maybe oppa doesn’t mind little sluts.  Maybe he’d fuck you, if you asked him nicely.”

 

His voice is barely more than a whisper over Hanbin’s panting, but he may as well have shouted it for as quickly as it brings everything to a stunning halt between one heartbeat and the next, shock and silence welling up thick as blood.  Junhwe’s heart is racing so hard he can barely hear Hanbin’s next words.

 

“Oh god, _oppa, please_.”

 

But Junhwe’s still staring at Bobby, mouth hanging slack with his surprise.  He hasn’t quite caught on to the fact that Bobby’s just taken command of them both, that Bobby’s wrenched control of the whole scene away from Junhwe; and by letting Bobby give him permission to do this, Junhwe’s just willingly relinquished his own power to Bobby.

 

And so now, as it had been for Bobby, it’s Junhwe’s turn to simply let go, to sink into the tight, coiling grip of his passion.  He gives into it as he never could before, knowing that he’s merely biting into the apple but unable to bring himself to care too much in the face of such overwhelming sweetness.  He nods to Bobby finally, coming to his senses just enough to answer the question, and Bobby’s smirk grows wider.

 

Speaking of damning things.

 

Donghyuk hadn’t been lying to Bobby in saying Junhwe isn’t, wasn’t, their lover, but that no longer is true here.  Somewhere tonight, or perhaps over the last few months, the line had become blurred between the two sides of that ill-defined territory.  Hanbin and Bobby are no longer only friends, and so much more than _just_ clients.

 

Bobby preps Hanbin while Junhwe watches, breath held in a throat full of emotion, ears ringing with disbelief.  He’s half-expecting a punchline, for Bobby to laugh and punch him cheerfully on the shoulder and declare it a joke, perhaps even tease him for taking the bait so completely.  

 

He might’ve even preferred that, for Bobby to put a stop to this before Junhwe makes the mistake he’s been heading into for months, but he doesn’t.  Junhwe’s just putting his head into the tiger’s mouth.  Bobby pushes something small into his hand, and Junhwe blinks down at the foil-wrapped condom in his palm as if expecting it to disappear.

 

Then, almost in a trance, he rips it open before he can wake up, because this has to be a fucking _dream._  Pun absolutely intended.

 

And it’s better than all the dreams and fantasies he’d ever imagined, better than anything he can remember just now.  His heart nearly bottoms out with Hanbin’s wild, helpless moan as Junhwe sinks into him.  All the breath is driven out of him like a blow to the chest, and Bobby’s there too, muffling Hanbin’s desperate cries with his mouth as Junhwe reins him in with both hands snared in the net of black silk rope.

 

“ _God_.” Junhwe can’t help himself moaning too, closing his eyes to keep from spending himself instantly in such impossible heat.  Bobby had stretched Hanbin well for this, but for all the lube and preparation, he’s so _tight_.  The urge to come is so overwhelming that for the first time in a long time, Junhwe feels outclassed, even a little embarrassed at how hard it is to control himself.

 

He takes a moment to collect his scattered wits, panting hard, trying not to look at where his dick is buried in Hanbin’s ass.  He can already barely stand the _idea_ of it; the visual would be too much.

 

Hanbin’s choking on his own moans, his lips webbed with spit, too desperate to be concerned with anything but the feel of Junhwe seated deeply inside him.  He’s bigger than Bobby, big enough that Hanbin can feel the difference in the stretch of his body to accommodate Junhwe’s greater thickness.  He arches back into Junhwe greedily, and Junhwe pulls the ropes tight in the small of his back, slapping Hanbin’s ass so hard he flinches.  That one really _hurt_ , far more than it had when Bobby spanked him earlier.  

 

“You’ll fucking _wait_.” Junhwe hisses.

 

But Junhwe doesn’t want to wait any longer either, the urges of his body beginning to overtake the control of his mind; he pulls Hanbin upright, holding him from behind with an arm slung across his chest, one finger hooked in the loop on his collar.  The deep, slow, deliberate slide of his cock makes Hanbin’s whole body jerk with responding molten pleasure spilling into his veins, sweat pasting his hair to his forehead.  He can barely breathe, can’t speak for delirium.

 

Junhwe’s had years of practice in self-control and handling huge amounts of stimulation, but this is testing every single limit he’s ever had.  He’s never wanted something so much, and he’s determined to enjoy every last moment of it, to be clear-headed where he isn’t suffused with hot-blooded lunacy.  Hanbin’s skin tastes salty on his tongue when he bites down on the slope of his shoulder rather harder than he’d meant to, but Hanbin certainly doesn’t seem to mind.  

 

And if he _does_ mind, well, that’s not his place.

 

Bobby reaches across Hanbin’s shoulder to where Junhwe’s face is buried in Hanbin’s neck, fisting a hand slowly in his damp, dyed black hair and tugging him upright.  Junhwe grunts with the pain of it, looking up only reluctantly; the tightness of Bobby’s grip feels like retribution, as if he’s punishing Junhwe for accepting his offer.  His expression, however, tells Junhwe it’s not punishment, but about giving in to passion, as he’d seen earlier in the night.

 

Bobby leans forward, eyes half-open and jaw thrust forward aggressively, and he yanks Junhwe into a kiss that’s as fierce as his expression, dominating Junhwe’s mouth as thoroughly as he’d dominated Hanbin’s body.  It’s not often that Junhwe’s surprised, but this surprises the hell out of him, leaving him breathless and reeling in the rush of heat that threatens to overwhelm him in orgasm, whole body lighting up again to the taste of Bobby’s savage kiss.  His rhythm falters as he struggles to maintain his focus, little starbursts popping in the darkness behind Junhwe’s closed eyes.

 

Only Hanbin’s moan of desperation and need interrupts them, but Bobby and Junhwe are focused on one another for the first time, completely distracted from Hanbin.  When Bobby leans back, releasing Junhwe’s hair only reluctantly, there’s no trace of embarrassment in his expression like there had been their first night.  Only pure aggression, eyebrows low over his narrowed eyes, his lips red and bruised.

 

Junhwe recognizes it as a challenge, especially when Bobby laughs soundlessly at him.  He’s well aware that he’d knocked Junhwe so far off his tracks, knows it’s an effort for Junhwe to collect and shuffle himself back into some semblance of the Dominant he knows himself to be.  Junhwe takes a moment to do just that, panting heavily and giving the boiling heat in his blood a chance to subside a little.

 

Then he snatches Bobby by the hair in turn, jerking him back down, the rhythm of his hips reestablishing to the wonderful sound of Hanbin’s tormented, raw moan of ecstasy.  Bobby comes to him willingly, mouths rejoining over Hanbin’s shoulder, but Junhwe doesn’t relax his grip for a second.  He’s not sure he could if he tried.

 

He’s swimming, but barely, floating along the surface of a wide expanse of hot water in which he’s fucking Hanbin and fighting Bobby, too wrapped up in the fierce pleasure to realize he’s being boiled alive.

 

Bobby snarls with rage and lust as Junhwe bites his lower lip ferociously, but as before, it only serves to push him harder, maybe a little berserk by now with the intensity of everything crashing over him.  They’re all hanging on desperately, but they’re so pummelled  by the current that all they can do is surrender themselves to the pull of the tide.

 

Hanbin’s so tense Bobby could strike a match off him, and he’s so strung out on pleasure, so exhausted already that he barely realizes he’s coming, at least at first.  The heat of it floods him in shattering pulses, slow at first and then faster and faster, until he’s juddering against the force of Junhwe’s thrusts.  His universe turns inside out, and all he can do is take it, endure, _submit_.

 

Junhwe, too, finds himself closer than expected, the heat rising in him like escaping steam.  Bobby swallows Junhwe’s throaty moan, and then Junhwe’s falling too, tensing and bucking into Hanbin in an orgasm that leaves him reeling and light-headed.

 

His knees tremble violently as Bobby finally releases him with a long sigh that brushes over his tender mouth, and Junhwe growls with discomfort as he unseats himself from Hanbin’s body.

 

Hanbin is limp, dazed, half-unconscious in Junhwe’s arms, and Junhwe has no time to collect himself, tossing the condom in the general direction of the trash as Bobby catches Hanbin and lays him gently down on the bed.

 

Hanbin doesn’t remember them untying him.  He comes to slow and heavy and warm, his body aching and his skin sore in odd places, but for all that he’s never felt better in his life, wrapped comfortably in the bed blankets.  Bobby’s fast asleep on one side of him, Junhwe half-awake on the other.

 

Bobby’s arm is draped over Hanbin’s ribs, and his eyes are closed, his hair still damp and sticking to his jaw.  Hanbin tries to lift a hand to push it away, but his arms are too heavy, and he relaxes rather than push himself further.

 

Junhwe, however, sits up slightly to prop himself on an elbow, and he brushes Hanbin’s mussed hair gently out of his eyes, smoothing it back off his face.  “How do you feel?” He says in a strained whisper, his hand tracing the side of Hanbin’s face softly, brushing a thumb over his bruised lips.

 

And Hanbin wonders if it’s normal, the swoop of excitement in his stomach; and he wonders, too, if it’s possible to fall in love with Junhwe just for the gentle way he touches Hanbin’s lips.  He’s too tired to feel much more than giddy, lazy happiness, however, and he merely smiles, closing his eyes and humming pleasantly.  

 

“Here, sit up a little.” Junhwe says, slipping an arm under Hanbin’s shoulders to prop him up, giving him a sip from a water bottle.  The motion disturbs Bobby, who stretches and grunts into Hanbin’s shoulder before sitting up too, already heavy-eyed and drowsy even though he couldn’t have been asleep for more than five minutes.

 

Junhwe offers Bobby the bottle, too, and Bobby takes a generous gulp without speaking, handing it back with hands so unsteady that he doesn’t dare try to give Hanbin any.  Junhwe laughs raggedly, tipping the bottle against Hanbin’s lips again before setting it off to the side.  Hanbin leans back with a deep sigh of relief, even the small effort of sitting up enough to knock his wind out again.  Bobby scoots closer, eyes closed, and nuzzles at Hanbin’s cheek.

 

Junhwe sits up a moment longer, his heart uncomfortably large in his chest, his mind still very awake for all his deep exhaustion.  Hanbin isn’t asleep, and after a moment, he cracks an eye open.  “Aren’t you going to lay down?” He murmurs.  Bobby makes a soft noise that could be agreement, or merely disturbance.

 

“Course.” Junhwe says, smiling.  “In a minute.”  

 

Junhwe’s neither a lover nor a hater of physical affection, but it isn’t something that comes naturally to him.  So it’s as much foreign territory to him as to the other two when he reaches across to stroke Hanbin’s hair again unprompted, letting the dark strands sift between his fingers, and Hanbin closes his eyes again, enjoying the gentle brush of fingertips over his forehead, his temples, his cheeks.  It’s not something Bobby normally does for him, and he likes it too much even to say so aloud, for fear of disturbing the soft touch.

 

And then, as Junhwe’s fingertips smooth lightly over the curve of Hanbin’s lips again, his knuckles brush Bobby’s cheek—maybe by accident, maybe sort of on purpose—and Bobby hums in a pleased, distant way; Junhwe withdraws his hand cautiously, but when Bobby doesn’t move again, he returns, letting his hand trail a little further down over the deep scar on Bobby’s chin.  He’s never asked about what happened there, but he’d never been close enough to see it like this, either.

 

Bobby sighs, smiling a little, and Junhwe’s emboldened by this, slipping the hand around the back of Bobby’s neck to stroke the short hairs he finds there with his thumb.  Bobby snorts and laughs in his half-sleep, rolling his head into the pillow to unconsciously expose his neck to the soft, curious touch.

 

When Junhwe takes his hand away after a few more moments, his elbow trembling violently under his body weight, Bobby’s asleep again, still smiling.  Hanbin’s only just still awake between them, and he smiles too when Junhwe kisses him on the temple.

 

Hanbin shifts, curling up into Bobby, and Junhwe lies down against Hanbin’s back, pressing his lips to Hanbin’s shoulder contentedly.

 

And maybe, just maybe, Junhwe’s still part of them, and maybe that part isn't so inconsequential after all.


	21. Chapter 21: Collapse

It’s well past midnight, but Bobby isn’t getting any sleep.

 

He blinks across at the dark wall, back to back with Hanbin under the covers, Hanbin asleep and twitching in his dreams.  Hanbin’s always had vivid dreams in contrast to Bobby’s quieter, deeper sleep; sometimes they wake Hanbin with their intensity or brush his mouth with a smile, sometimes pushing words in a nonsense mumble between his lips.  A sleeping Hanbin is curiously small and delicate, devoid of all the intensity and resolution that is Hanbin in the waking world.

 

Bobby normally might roll over and cuddle him, or sit up and watch him dreaming, but tonight he remains still, head resting on a pillow that’s recently become too lumpy, too hard, too hot, too cold; though that could be attributed to the maddening headache he’s given himself, frowning thoughtfully into the dark.

 

Bobby, by nature, isn’t a particularly sensitive type, on the whole too mellow and flexible to let most things get to him, and it’s very rare indeed that anything ever comes close to touching on Bobby’s deeply hidden sensitivities, some of which he doesn’t even admit that he has.

 

But Hanbin is one such sensitivity Bobby’s always had, from the earliest days, and with good reason.  They’d been together since high school, when Minho had introduced them: Hanbin about a year younger than Bobby, but in the same year thanks to his stellar grades.  Bobby’d never bothered to notice him before, except to write him off as a geek.  That had quickly changed as he’d gotten to know him, and he’d been in love before the evening they’d met was over.

 

(Junhwe had told Hanbin, not unkindly, that he’d always seen such relationships as a curse.  He’d been too immature in his younger days to appreciate them, and a subsequent series of bitter failed affairs (not to mention bearing witness to Yunhyeong’s first truly ugly breakup) had left him with a distaste for the unpleasantness of relationships outgrown by their members before they’d ever developed the ability to see the long-term result of their hot-blooded decisions.  He was in no hurry to subject himself to something as rending and vicious as a divorce before the age of twenty-five.)

 

But Bobby and Hanbin had essentially grown up alongside one another, at least in the most significant formative years of their not-quite-adulthood, navigating the challenges of adult life together without a fucking clue as to what they were doing.  In consequence, Hanbin is so closely tied to the deepest aspects of Bobby’s own nature and identity, and vice versa, that they’re more like two trees with a shared root than transplants.

 

And so much of their growing up, too, had been challenging, struggling to identify each new function and placement of slowly growing maturity, of vibrant, drifting currents of life and personality finally settling into their places.  It hadn’t always been easy, learning to cope with the sometimes painful new paths each current carved in their relationship.  The growth and change meant that neither of them remained the same person the other had fallen in love with, and they’d been forced to choose:  Either learn to love that new person, or split apart completely.

 

But two trees with shared roots split apart meant both would survive, but neither could ever be a whole tree again, and they’d chosen to learn to love one another over again.  That had been the place where they’d been closest, too, to leaving one another forever, of letting insecurity and change tear them apart.  

 

Yet even now, Bobby and Hanbin still greet love in the same way they had done as young, passionate teenagers, with novelty and curiosity and wonder.  Even when those had worn away at the lowest point in their relationship, eroded by the storm of change, they’d found themselves still rooted in firm soil for all the howling wind stripping the leaves from their branches, and still willing to shelter one another from the rain.

 

They’d held on grimly through the winter, only to emerge into spring, and everything had bloomed once more.  A long summer had followed, ardent and vivid, but now something cold and bleak and wintry is stirring once more in Bobby’s soul.

 

All he has to go on is a single feeling, or a memory of a feeling, that he can’t shake.  He dwells on it in the darkness, eyes fixed on a single point of light where the moon reflects off the doorknob.

 

It’d taken all three of them a day or two to recover from New Years’ Eve, in which Bobby had turned Hanbin over to Junhwe without reservation, without even a second thought, and allowed Junhwe to fuck Hanbin into oblivion.  That hadn’t been a problem, either, not even now; watching them had been such an intense and delicious experience, so vastly different to see Hanbin’s desperation and Junhwe’s raw power playing out before his eyes, and he’ll hold it in his mind forever.  He had _loved_ it, and it’d been no secret that Hanbin and Junhwe had too.

 

He wonders if he should feel guiltier about it, about perhaps pressing Junhwe into fucking Hanbin, or about pressing Hanbin into accepting it; he hadn’t forgotten about Junhwe’s rule, either, and he finds himself wondering why Junhwe had broken it, after his insistence that he didn’t sleep with his clients.

 

Bobby fidgets thoughtfully with his own new gold ring, the very double of Hanbin’s right down to the green stone.  He twists it between his fingers, still aware of its weight and the foreignness of its presence.  Surely they’d have refused his proposition if they’d truly been against it.

 

No, what’s really stinging him is embarrassment, or maybe something deeper and more private, like shame.  The burning moment that stands out most clearly in his mind is when Junhwe had stopped Bobby early on in their scene, catching his hand mid-swing to prevent him from overdoing it.

 

He can’t understand why this is still bothering him after this long.  It’s been almost a week, and yet the same rise of sickening humiliation floods him each time he recalls it.  

 

It’s Bobby’s only duty, really, to protect and care for Hanbin, and to keep him safe.  He couldn’t have stood between himself and Hanbin, and he goes cold at the thought of what he might’ve done if Junhwe hadn’t stopped him.  

 

He hadn’t known how out of his own control he’d been.  Junhwe had brought him back to earth, however, and Bobby had been more frightened than ever to discover that he’d been so caught up in the intensity that he’d lost sight of his only purpose.

 

Junhwe had protected Hanbin.  Bobby had failed.

 

Bobby always forgets that Junhwe is a professional, and ten years of experience lends him the kind of anticipation and awareness that Bobby can’t expect to have after such a short time.

 

And yet Bobby has always prided himself on understanding Hanbin better than anyone else, being perfectly in tune with him even when Hanbin’s at his worst.  And now he’d become aware of some discord, a sour note in the background, and he listens to it over and over in his head, trying to determine what it means, where it’s come from.

 

The proposal hadn’t helped matters, and Bobby fidgets with his ring again, his stomach drawing tight.  How could he deserve to marry Hanbin?  How could he possibly be Hanbin’s partner, how could he ever allow this monstrous side of himself to surface again?

 

And Junhwe—what must Junhwe think of him?  He can only imagine Junhwe’s disdain, his pride at having bested Bobby in their game, and yet that doesn’t seem to fit.  Junhwe had been gentle in his correction, reassuring him calmly, without any anger or snap in his tone at all.  Bobby’s disappointment is all in himself, and in his failure to both protect Hanbin and impress Junhwe, especially after Junhwe had acknowledged his abilities.  He’d let them both down.

 

He wants to talk to Junhwe about it above all else, but he isn’t sure how he’d even begin, and just the humiliating thought of Junhwe’s imaginary arrogance is enough to make the urge retract again.  He couldn’t bear being laughed at, or for Junhwe to mock him, though the realistic part of his brain knows Junhwe would do no such thing.  Unfortunately for him, the realistic part of his brain is taking a health day.

 

Restless, disturbed, he turns to look at the glowing clock face on Hanbin’s side of the bed.   _01:39_.  Hanbin rolls over onto his stomach away from Bobby, sighing deeply.

 

“Hanbin?” Bobby whispers into the dark, on the off chance that Hanbin might’ve awoken.

 

Hanbin farts in his sleep by way of response, and Bobby can’t help it, overwhelmed suddenly with helpless, silent giggles that he smothers into the pillow, shaking the bed so much that Bobby finally gets up for fear of waking him.  

 

He’s still muffling his laughter into a cupped hand when he goes into the living room, closing the bedroom door behind him and, to his immediate and terrified surprise, almost running smack into Junhwe himself as he turns.  He jumps, startling so hard he almost knocks Junhwe’s glass out of his hand; a considerable amount of water sloshes out of it onto the floor, splashing over Junhwe’s and Bobby’s bare feet.

 

“Hey, whoa.” Junhwe says gently, catching Bobby gently by the forearm.

 

“Holy shit, you scared the fuck out of me.” Bobby breathes, putting a hand to his chest.  Junhwe lets go of Bobby’s wrist slowly.

 

“Sorry.  Did I wake you up?” Junhwe says, going back to the sink to refill his glass and tossing Bobby a roll of paper towels to mop up the spill.

 

“Nah.  Can’t sleep, so I thought I’d come out here and read until I’m tired.” Bobby says, shrugging, trying hard not to look at the fact that Junhwe’s wearing only a pair of silky sleep pants riding low across the deep V of his narrow hips.  He doesn’t do a very good job.  

 

Junhwe makes a little sound of agreement. “Something on your mind?” He says shrewdly.  

 

Bobby raises his eyebrows, opens his mouth, and then hesitates.  For all his desire to talk it out with Junhwe not five minutes earlier, a sudden, inexplicable shyness engulfs him now that he’s face to face with him, and he’s too abashed to speak.  He looks away.

 

“No, just not tired yet, I guess.” Bobby says, rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously.

 

“Are you sure?” Junhwe prompts, looking suspiciously at Bobby from over the rim of his glass as he takes another sip.  He’s been waiting for this since New Years’ Eve, and some cold, terrible expectation is settling in the pit of his stomach like some awful animal come home to roost.  The word _breakup_ occurs to him, and Junhwe would laugh at the idea if there was any humor left in his nature just then, because how could Bobby break up with him when they're not in a relationship?  

 

He can see that Bobby’s withholding something, but he waits without pushing, a little cluster of icy nerves gathering in his throat and thickening in the back of his mouth.  He can’t imagine what else must be bothering Bobby, if not to tell Junhwe that he’s no longer welcome with them.

 

Junhwe’s the polar opposite of Bobby and Hanbin, in that he approaches love in the same way he approaches life:  Laconically, without all but the most dryly pessimistic expectations, and a dim sense of muted hope that maybe love isn’t dead for him after all.  His ambition, he’d told Bobby half-jokingly, is to live to the not-so-ripe age of fifty-six, at which point he hopes to be shot by an outraged housewife before his looks and memory begin to go south.  

 

As for the storm, well, Junhwe’s always carried an umbrella.

 

Bobby scowls, willing himself to stop being so stupid; they’ve talked about this so often that it should be easy.  He digs spurs into himself again and again to urge the words out; but all that happens is that he mouths stupidly like a fish, his brain flopping uselessly, muted with embarrassment.  It’s not easy, after all, to admit that for all his hope of surprising Junhwe and thrilling Hanbin, he’d only surprised and frightened himself.

 

“No.  I’m fine.” Bobby says listlessly, and there’s something in his tone that tells Junhwe not to ask again—not anger, but resignation.

 

Junhwe passes Bobby on the way out of the kitchen, and Bobby seems to freeze in place, stock-still as if frightened, and that bothers Junhwe more than Bobby’s hesitation.   He looks at Bobby curiously as he passes, pausing to lay a hand on Bobby’s forearm again.  His fingers are warm and light around Bobby’s wrist, and Bobby looks down at the touch almost mechanically.  “Hey.” Junhwe says.

 

Bobby looks up at him finally, but he won’t make eye contact, staring at Junhwe’s mouth instead; Junhwe’s struck suddenly, dizzyingly, with the unbidden memory of Bobby kissing him over Hanbin’s shoulder.  He bites his lip, the sharp pain clearing his head a little.

 

“You know you can talk to me, right?” Junhwe says, and it sounds silly even to his own ears, almost laughable.  “You can tell me whatever you need to.”

 

“Thank you.” Bobby says quietly, and Junhwe lets him go when Bobby pulls his arm away to move into the kitchen.  He knows Junhwe meant it to be a reassuring touch, but for whatever reason it simply irritates him, feeling suddenly as if he’d rather Junhwe left him alone just now.  The chill at his soul seems to freeze a little tighter, spidering out in thin filaments of ice, grim and bleak and ugly.

 

Junhwe hesitates, his own guts filling with lead as he takes in the broad expanse of Bobby’s back, and then he too turns away, hollowed and deeply unsettled by Bobby’s stiffness.  Perhaps Bobby’s noticed that Junhwe had gone too far, had finally become aware of his feelings toward Hanbin?  The idea sends a wave of molten panic through him, and for a moment he can’t catch his breath.

 

But there’s no way for him to know that Bobby’s feelings have very little to do with Hanbin at all just now.

 

An arctic silence hangs in the darkness between them, heavy and awkward with unspoken tension, with expectation, as if Bobby’s teetering on the edge of speaking.  Junhwe wants to say something too, but he wouldn’t know what that would be, so he remains silent, too.

 

Finally, as Junhwe reaches for his bedroom doorknob, Bobby says, “Night.”

 

Junhwe looks at him curiously over his shoulder.  “Goodnight, Jiwon.”

 

*

 

Bobby falls asleep sometime an hour or two before dawn and gets up just after sunrise, still aching with tiredness; but at least the light has pushed back the darkness that had swirled around his head the night before like clustering bats, and now Bobby feels almost a little absurd and embarrassed at his own overreaction.

 

Bobby likes Junhwe.  He’s been their friend from the get go, and nothing but funny, generous, responsible—oh, and not to mention, _sexy_.  (Bobby’s (almost) married, not fucking _blind_.)  But the greatest interest Junhwe really holds for Bobby lies in his professional abilities, and Bobby’s desire to measure up, as it were.  The darkness had made that urge overwhelming, a hideous boogeyman in the dark, and the light has thankfully revealed it to be nothing more than a phantom.

 

He’d been being silly last night, and he knows they all know it.  Embarrassment at his own foolishness warms his face as he pours another cup of coffee, silently willing it to wash away at least a fraction of his desperate tiredness.

 

And he wonders just what, exactly, he’s trying to convince himself of—whether his fears themselves are silly, or only his reaction to them.  Even though the magnitude of it is much attenuated with the light, Bobby still feels a stir of disquiet; something about his identity bound up in Hanbin has been threatened, but he’s not any nearer to understanding _what_.  

 

Finally, agitated and restless in his dwelling on whatever it is that’s bugging him, he goes into the bedroom to get dressed, pecking a sleeping Hanbin on the cheek before slipping on his jacket with the idea of going for a morning walk, to freshen his lungs and clear his mind in the bright sunlight.

 

Junhwe and Hanbin had been making plans the night before to get up slightly early (for them, at least) to watch a soccer game together on TV this morning, something Bobby isn’t particularly interested in, and a walk will relieve him of Hanbin’s lusty booing and cheering from the sofa, too.

 

Junhwe’s just emerging shirtless, tousle-haired, puffy-faced from his own bedroom when Bobby leaves.

 

“Morning.”

 

“Hey.” Junhwe says as Bobby scoots past him in the hall, the shoulder of his jacket brushing Junhwe’s bare arm.  Junhwe turns to watch him pass, distracted, and Bobby grins over his shoulder.  There isn’t time to dwell on the tense and disturbing encounter he’d had with Bobby in the kitchen the night prior before he’s out the door, a little smile and a wave in Junhwe’s direction, the door closing quietly behind him.

 

Junhwe does spare some concern for him, however, because for all Bobby’s friendly enough greeting, he’s still a little pale and heavy-eyed from lack of sleep, and Junhwe wishes Bobby would consent to tell him what’s on his mind.  He’s confident that this is something about their scene from the other night, but he’s not sure which aspect, and he’s almost as certain he could find the words to address whatever’s troubling him.

 

(There’s another side to it too, in that Junhwe’s so anxious about it that he’s desperate to put it to rest, whatever it might be.)

 

He finds that Bobby had made enough coffee for the three of them and pours himself a cup gratefully.  Hanbin appears from his bedroom shortly afterward, squinting in the bright sun; Junhwe allows himself a moment of appreciation for the cute bedhead and puffy lips that is Hanbin in all his Saturday-morning glory, and feigns a believable sleepy vacancy when Hanbin calls him on it with a curious little smile on his face.

 

And throughout the morning, when he’s not occupied by the game, Junhwe watches Hanbin closely; but he seems lazy and unperturbed, or at least unaware.  Following his lead based on the logic that Hanbin would know before anyone else that something’s wrong with Bobby, Junhwe puts the encounter out of his mind, and quickly becomes distracted by other pursuits.

 

Namely, Hanbin.

 

Hanbin’s been watching from the kitchen over the breakfast bar, shouting at the television in between bouts of whatever the hell he’s doing.  Junhwe sets his empty coffee cup on the counter, leaning over to peer at Hanbin’s hands, which are dusted with flour up to his elbows.  “What’s all this?”

 

“Making _hoddeok_ ,” Hanbin says, stooping to retrieve a bowl out of the cabinet, “my mom always made them for soccer games when I was growing up and, I dunno, I always liked making them too.  I’m not as good at cooking them like she is, though.”

 

“Well, if it tastes good, it doesn’t have to be pretty.” Junhwe says thoughtfully.  He watches Hanbin for a moment longer, and then he says, “Do you want some help?”

 

Hanbin chuckles.  “Are you sure you can tell the difference between milk and orange juice?”

 

“I figure if I have the opportunity to watch, I may learn something.” Junhwe says, grinning.

 

“What gives?”

 

“Pardon?”

 

“You’ve never expressed an interest in cooking before, why now?”

 

Junhwe shrugs.  Maybe it’s the opportunity to be alone with Hanbin for a moment.  Perhaps it’s simply being comfortable enough to let someone teach him something, like Bobby insisting that Junhwe be the one to teach him about Dominance.  Whatever it is, he can’t really explain it to himself.  “Why _not_?” He counters.

 

So Hanbin guides Junhwe through the recipe, showing him how to measure out flour and level it with his finger; how to break eggs without shattering them; how to knead the dough without sticking it to everything else in the process.  Junhwe follows along with eyebrows furrowed in concentration, trying hard to pay attention to the task at hand and not Hanbin’s hand on his arm, standing so close that more than once he feels the weight and warmth of Hanbin’s body against his back.

 

In hindsight, accepting Junhwe’s offer of help might not have been Hanbin’s best idea, for multiple reasons.  The kitchen is small enough to be comfortably functional for one person—usually Bobby—but it becomes downright crowded with two, Hanbin bumping into Junhwe almost at every turn.

 

Their hands and bodies seem somehow slower, clumsier in such close proximity to one another, elbows brushing.  Hanbin’s mind is occupied with something subdued and pressing and half-painful, so that he can barely keep his thoughts on the task at hand.

 

Hanbin lunges across Junhwe to rescue an egg rolling its happy way toward the edge of the counter, pushing him to the side abruptly; Junhwe turns to look at him, surprised and maybe a little affronted, only—

 

—only Hanbin’s suddenly got Junhwe pinned _against_ the counter, pressed together from chest to knee, and whatever affront Junhwe’s taken vanishes as he registers the immediacy of their position.  Hanbin’s not looking up at Junhwe, not exactly:  His eyes are instead on the tiny beauty mark just below the curve of Junhwe’s smooth lower lip, both hearts bounding against one another like jackrabbits.  Excitement hammers on the air.

 

It’s the easiest thing, the most obvious thing in the world for Hanbin to lean in and kiss him.

 

Junhwe might’ve protested, but as before, so now.  His body betrays him so desperately that it’d be pathetic if Hanbin weren’t in the same state, too eager to stop, too absorbed in one another to even _think_ of stopping, only an intense and urgent sense of _tighter_ , _closer, more_.

 

He’d at first had had reasons, and then excuses, and finally only the need.  One hand finds Hanbin’s hair, the other in the small of his back.  He pulls Hanbin into him all the more aggressively, giddy with the rub of Hanbin’s dick against his leg and the responding surge of heat in his own body.

 

 _It shouldn’t feel this good_ , Hanbin thinks, Junhwe kissing him like this; but then, they’ve never kissed like _this_ , either.  For all their kissing, for all their touching, this isn’t even in the same solar system.  This time has no context, no setting, no background in which to make it acceptable, as if it had never been the _real_ Junhwe kissing the _real_ Hanbin before now.

 

It shouldn’t feel this good, tongue brushing Hanbin’s again and again, lips taken softly between teeth to bite, breathing ragged.  It _does_ , though, arousal and giddy excitement bursting inside him like stars and leaving him dizzy with the force of their impact.  Every nerve in his body leaps to meet Junhwe’s touch as his floury hands slip beneath the back of Hanbin’s shirt.

 

Junhwe’s never wanted anyone so badly in his life, and all he can think about right now is getting Hanbin naked, of pleasing and pleasuring him until he melts all over Junhwe’s hands, his tongue, his body.  

 

Hanbin grabs Junhwe’s hand to guide it to the front of his jeans, and Junhwe’s little involuntary sound of pleasure finds its echo in Hanbin’s throat.  Another second and Junhwe’s got Hanbin’s belt undone, the button open, zipper down—

 

*

 

Bobby’s walk does him a power of good; the clear air had in turn cleared the miasma from his brain, and he’s smiling now.  He’d made up his mind to talk to Junhwe when he gets back; he seems so much less intimidating, so much less overwhelming in the light, and he knows that if anyone would understand, it’d be Junhwe.

 

*

 

The apartment door opens.  Like the plaintive wail of a siren, slowly at first and then all at once, the full hammer blow of panic strikes at Hanbin, and he leaps apart from Junhwe to see Bobby entering the living room, tugging his hat off.  

 

He stops in his tracks as he catches sight of them breathless and disheveled and oh-so-guilty, and his eyes fix instantly on where Hanbin’s pants are undone, belt clattering loosely against his thigh.  Hanbin hastily begins to do up his belt, not meeting Bobby’s eyes.

 

For a moment, Bobby can’t breathe, standing frozen in the entrance to the living room, only a dense and crushing despair settling on him so profoundly that for the briefest of moments, he thinks he could die of it, a weariness that cuts him all the way to the soul.

 

And his first conscious thought is the hideous realization that maybe he _deserves_ this, to be replaced by Junhwe when Bobby had failed to protect or satisfy Hanbin.  Worse still, Hanbin himself knows it, too, evidently only too eager to get in bed with Junhwe the moment Bobby’s back was turned.  Junhwe’s become his replacement, and there’s no room for Bobby in this anymore.  All of his midnight fears come true, in living color.

 

And then the despair filling him up like nausea begins to simmer with an undercurrent of swiftly rising rage, the guilty look on Hanbin’s face and the set, cold, fixed expression on Junhwe’s only serving to set a torch to the fuel.

 

“Hanbin, what is this?” Bobby says, and his voice is soft and deadly.

 

Hanbin blanches with fear and guilt.  “J-Jiwon…” He stammers.

 

Junhwe’s pulse is pounding faster than ever, dread striking at his heart like the point of a spear.  A cold sweat breaks out on the back of his neck.

 

“Don’t _fucking_ lie to me, Hanbin, I know what you’ve been doing.  You've got his handprints all over your fucking dick.” Bobby snarls, voice rising uncontrollably.  “Were you planning on telling me about this, or did you just wait until I turned my back so you could fucking cheat on me?”

 

Hanbin, if possible, goes whiter than before.  Junhwe doesn’t know what to do.  All he knows is that he’s just as guilty as Hanbin, and he can’t bear letting Hanbin take all the blame.

 

“Nothing happened, Jiwon.”

 

“Sure it didn’t!  And _you_!” Bobby snaps, pointing a finger in Junhwe’s face.  Junhwe takes a step backward in surprise.  “I can’t fucking _believe_ you—how—how could you?” Rage is rendering him incoherent, and his voice breaks on the last word.

 

Hanbin takes a step forward this time, a little braver now that he’s had a moment to collect himself.  “Jiwon, stop!  It was my fault.” He says urgently, but then shrinks back from the heat of Bobby’s anger.

 

“Oh, I see.   _Nothing_ happened, and _nothing_ was your fault, huh?” Bobby mocks humorlessly.  “I suppose this meant nothing to you whatsoever, huh?” He holds up his left hand, the green stone of his gold ring catching the sunlight in the living room window.  “I guess you thought I’d just gotten it out of a fucking gumball machine?  Means nothing to you, does it, Hanbin.  Just like me.   _Nothing_.”

 

“Jiwon.” Junhwe says quietly, and Bobby rounds on him now, eyes blazing.

 

“What kind of person spends their time fucking married couples anyway?  First Yunhyeong and Donghyuk, now us?  Do you really get off on fucking up relationships?  Or did Donghyuk just try to scrape you off on us so you’d stop fucking _his_ husband?”

 

Junhwe’s blood goes cold.  Every horrible, painful, vicious thought Junhwe had ever suspected or expected Bobby of having is pouring out of him, almost the exact double of his expectations.  The ugly look on Bobby’s face, and the sound of Hanbin crying for real now, shatters something deep inside Junhwe, tearing at him with cold hooks, breaking, smashing, rending.

 

And yet there’s another part of Junhwe that’s quite cool and collected, the part that _had_ expected this, and it rises to the surface over the brutal pain in his chest.  He’d thought this might happen ever since Bobby had locked up on him mid-scene the week prior, and probably even before.

 

“Do you even fucking hear yourself right now?  Who followed me around for weeks, _begging_ for lessons?  Who brought _me_ into this?  It’s not like I just showed up in your fucking bed by surprise, Jiwon!  Hanbin didn’t invite me.   _You did_.  You can’t—you can’t bring me into something like this and then be upset when I don’t want to leave it.” Junhwe controls his voice with an effort, and he holds Bobby’s gaze fiercely, aware of Hanbin’s dry sobs but unable to look away.

 

Bobby’s silent for a long moment, thrown momentarily.  He swallows hard.

 

“That’s what I thought.” Junhwe says, almost calmly, though corrosive fury still courses through him like poison.

 

But then Bobby’s jaw sets, his eyes narrow, and rage erupts in him all over again, more terrible than before.  “Get the fuck out of my house, Junhwe.” He says hoarsely.  Again, his voice is soft, but all the worse for the edge of it, sharp and awful enough to flay the skin right off Junhwe’s back.

 

“Jiwon, _no!_ ” Hanbin cries.

 

“ _Shut the fuck up, Hanbin_!” Bobby shrieks.  “Junhwe, get out, _now!_ ”

 

Junhwe moves as if to brush past Hanbin, still quivering with rage, but Hanbin throws an arm out to block Junhwe’s path, placing himself between the two of them.  “He’s not leaving.” Hanbin says, voice high-pitched and trembling with suppressed sobs.  His gaze is wet with tears, face blotchy and swollen, but impressively steady for all that.

 

“I’ll go, Hanbin.” Junhwe says.

 

“ _No_.” Hanbin says firmly.

 

“Fine!” Bobby snarls, snatching his hat back off the counter and jamming it onto his head so low that it hides his eyes.  “Fine!  You choose him.  I get it.”

 

He stumbles suddenly, bumping into the chair on the other side of the barstool, knocking it to the floor almost carelessly, out of control of his own body as if all the rage has left him with the senselessness of a broken heart, and taken with it his balance.  He looks back at Junhwe, and then at Hanbin, but the bill of his cap is so low Hanbin can’t make out his expression.

 

Then, without a word, he jerks the golden ring off his left hand and flings it as hard as he can at Junhwe, where it hits him between the eyes.  Junhwe hunches over, hand clapping to the spot where it’d struck, eyes watering.  The ring bounces off the table loudly and rolls away into the kitchen.  Hanbin can only stare at Bobby, white-faced, horrified, stricken.

 

“There you go.  That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?  Fuck you.” Bobby's voice breaks, and then he’s turning away, yanking the door open so violently that it rebounds off the wall.

 

“Jiwon, stop!” Hanbin calls desperately, hurrying toward the door.  The only response is Bobby slamming the door behind himself so hard the picture on the wall falls to the floor and shatters, spewing glittering fragments of glass across the floor.

 

“Jiwon, come back!” Hanbin calls again, wrenching the door open, heedless of the glass beneath his shoes, but Bobby’s already three flights down and gaining speed.  Hanbin could never catch him like that, and they all know it.

 

Junhwe collapses into a chair at the table, still holding his forehead and trembling with fury, and Hanbin can only stand speechless and stunned among a sea of sparkling glass, trying to keep the last dashed fragments of his universe from washing down the drain at his feet.

 


	22. Chapter 22: Void

It isn’t warm, but it’s not cold enough today for snow to stick, and everything is bright and damp, puddles gathering on the sidewalks to turn into ice overnight.

 

Bobby splashes through them, his hood up and the bill of his cap low, the scalding wound in his chest pulsing with every beat of his overexerted heart; he feels like he could run forever, running away from the storm raging in his blood until it blows itself out.  For a moment, the despair settles over him again, and he slows to a walk, unable to breathe anymore.  

 

His hands are still shaking when he thrusts them into his pockets, panting with exertion, eyes unfocused and fixed on the sidewalk.  He walks, just walks, unable to keep still once the smothering anguish had passed over him.  How could he have been so stupid, so blind?  In hindsight, it all seems so ridiculously obvious that he’s not sure, now, what the fuck he’d been thinking.

 

Junhwe had been right.  This is all Bobby’s fault.   _He’d_ been the one to initiate all this, to ask for Junhwe’s guidance, even to allow Junhwe to handle Hanbin.  And why shouldn’t he have?  Up until now, nothing had set off his worries, and Junhwe had given him no cause for concern, even when Bobby had let Junhwe fuck Hanbin in front of him.  Somehow, that’s _still_ not the part that bothers him.  

 

The part where they’d decided they could do without him _was_.

 

Anger and pain wash over him in a fresh wave; the sense of betrayal and abandonment that consumes him seems to roar like a hurricane, gusting this way and that.  He picks up his pace involuntarily, walking more quickly now, stumbling here and there over cracks and pits in the sidewalk.

 

How could it all have gone wrong so quickly?

 

He walks around the park twice, three times, untouched by the damp, sweet-smelling grass and the freshness of the clean air.  Each time he rounds the entrance, he thinks he might go back and talk to them, but each time he thinks this, hate and hurt resurge anew.  Finally he stops pacing, retreating further into the park, because he can’t stand even looking back in the direction he’d come.

 

The sun is low on the horizon before Bobby leaves, having found a secluded bench and sat huddled on it for several long, agonizing hours, the anger slowly draining out of him and leaving a permanent, vast, terrible emptiness in its place.  He feels once again like he might die of grief, so heavily does it settle on him, pressing the aching hollowness in his chest until it might burst.

 

He hasn’t cried yet, still too shaken to really believe it’d happened, and too numb to feel anything too acutely.

 

It’s only when the first drops of water land on Bobby’s shoulder from the overhanging bare branches of the tree above the bench that he moves with any sort of purpose.  Whether it’s rain or condensation, Bobby doesn’t know, but he _does_ know that being wet would only add insult to injury.  He looks up at the last rays of the sun vanishing behind a cloud, only to catch a splash of rain across his cheek like a single tear.  He wipes it away with his sleeve, and then another heavy raindrop bounces off the bill of his cap.

 

Bobby pulls out his phone, shaking flecks of rain off the face of it, but there aren’t any messages waiting for him; only a bright background of his and Hanbin’s smiling faces, Hanbin’s face so full of rosy light, another blow to his broken heart.  He swipes his phone over to the home screen just so he doesn’t have to look at it anymore.

 

It’s Bobby’s custom, after truly bad arguments, to take walks for up to several hours at a time, or for lesser conflicts, to retreat into a bedroom alone until he’s cooled down enough to talk calmly.  Hanbin, conversely, doesn’t interrupt Bobby’s stewing—he knows that Bobby will talk when he’s ready, and disturbing that only prolongs the process.

 

But this time, the silence of his phone and the absence of any messages only scours the raw wound in Bobby’s heart with profound loneliness and regret.  Bobby takes it as final, awful proof that Hanbin would rather have Junhwe.  He wishes there was at least a text message to distract him.

 

Rain is beginning to fall more heavily now, bitter cold on the back of his neck, and Bobby retreats further beneath the tree, dialing Minho’s number and waiting with breath held, counting the rings and wondering if he might not just spend the night on this park bench after all.

 

“Hey, Jiwon.” Minho answers just before it goes to voicemail, sounding cheerful, happy.  Bobby hasn’t spoken aloud for hours, and it takes a moment to unstick his throat.

 

“Hey.” He says at last, and his voice isn’t as steady as he’d like it to be.  “Um…how’s it going?”

 

Minho sighs.  “I’m fine, but I’m guessing you’re not.”

 

“Could I come over?” Bobby says, and for some reason tears start in his eyes, but he brushes them away urgently before they can take hold of his throat.  “I…I need someplace to stay tonight.”

 

Minho hesitates.  “Er…did something happen?” He says, instead of answering the question.

 

“I’m fine.”

 

“Jiwon, we both know I know you better than that.  What’s wrong?”

 

“I don’t want to talk about it.  I just need to crash for a night or two on your couch.” Bobby says weakly.

 

“Alright.” Minho says, a little reluctantly.  “Come on over.”

 

“Thanks.” Bobby says, and hangs up without bothering to say goodbye.

 

The dark thoughts clustering around his head had dispersed slightly during his conversation, if it could be called that, with Minho.  They return in full force, however, as he begins the heavy, wet walk toward Minho’s apartment.  It isn’t far from here, but happily in the opposite direction of—god, it feels wrong right now even to say it—his own apartment, where Hanbin and Junhwe are probably already celebrating his absence.

 

 

*

 

 

The silence in the apartment is profound, broken only by the patter of the rain against the dark windows.  Hanbin hasn’t spoken a word since Bobby left, alternating between a restless, painful rigidity so profound he can barely breathe, and a bone-deep lethargy that leaves him lying on the sofa for an hour at a time, only his chest moving with rapid breaths, his eyes fixed unblinkingly on the ceiling.

 

Bobby seems to have taken Hanbin’s lungs with him, because he no longer seems to have enough air, his body limp and his brain dusty and hypoxic.  On the other side of the wall on his own bed is Junhwe, in the same state, his insides pulsing with alternate waves of righteous anger and vicious, nauseating shame.

 

The picture frame Bobby had shattered is lying facedown on Junhwe’s desk, and he doesn’t know why he’d brought it in with him, except maybe to spare Hanbin the pain of looking at it.  It’s a nice picture, Bobby and Hanbin in suits, perhaps at a wedding of some sort; Hanbin’s face is young, heart-shaped, pale, and Bobby’s crescent-moon eye smile is as wide as he’s ever seen it.  Junhwe had swept up the glass in the hallway, collecting the larger pieces and shaking the shards from the frame into the trash before retreating into his own room, consumed by guilt.

 

It’s all Junhwe’s fault, no matter what he’d told Bobby in a moment of unforgivable defensiveness.  Bobby might share some of the blame, but Junhwe had _known_ , he’d always known better.  He’d seen the train coming from miles away, and he can’t begin to explain to himself why he’d lain down on the tracks in anticipation, can't justify anything now as he'd done so often in the past.  He’s so sickened with himself he can’t even look at Hanbin right now, all too aware of what it had cost all of them for him to get what he’d wanted.

 

He’d gotten Hanbin all to himself in shouldering Bobby out of the way, and he’s never wanted anything less.

 

Hanbin taps gently on Junhwe’s door, and Junhwe sits up lethargically, feeling like nothing so much as a mannequin with his strings cut.

 

“Yeah?”

 

Hanbin peers around the door, and he’s dry-eyed and flushed, with lines of misery and exhaustion around his eyes and mouth.  The sight of him makes Junhwe’s stomach clench, and he looks fixedly at Hanbin’s shoulder.

 

He swings his legs over the edge of the bed.  Hanbin closes the door and sits down next to Junhwe, a few inches away, and yet the gulf of awful silence between them makes those few inches feel like the iron bars of a cage.

 

Finally, after a few minutes of tense, fidgety silence that would’ve been awkward if there had been anything to say, Hanbin moves his hand slightly, brushing his fingers against the back of Junhwe’s hand in a soft request.  Junhwe turns his hand over, and Hanbin’s fingers slide into his palm like they’d always been there.

 

“What are we going to do?”

 

Hanbin’s voice is small, weak with disuse and suppressed emotion, and it tears the fibers out of Junhwe’s heart to hear it, hating himself for being the cause of it.  

 

“Dunno.” Junhwe says, in a voice just as raw and wrecked as Hanbin’s.  Then, suddenly, he adds, “What do you mean, _we_?”

 

Hanbin bites his lip, glancing at Junhwe, his fingers tightening on Junhwe’s hand until it aches.  He doesn’t have an answer to Junhwe’s question, any more than Junhwe does for his own, and he doesn’t speak, his throat too tight even to breathe properly.

 

“It isn’t your fault.” Hanbin whispers instead, eventually.  

 

Junhwe shudders as if stifling a sob, and he shakes his head, his face crumpling with misery, unable to stop the hot rush of tears scalding his eyes.  He pulls away from Hanbin, and Hanbin releases him only reluctantly as Junhwe buries his face in both hands, breathing harshly as he struggles to control himself.

 

“It _is_ my fault.” Junhwe says, voice muffled by his palms.  “I always knew…”

 

And then Junhwe’s silent for so long that Hanbin scoots a little closer, leaning against Junhwe’s shoulder to indicate he’s still listening and to prompt him to continue.  Junhwe doesn’t want to, but it’s not fair to any of them not to tell Hanbin.  He may as well light it all on fire now, because it’s not as if there’s any salvaging the situation.

 

The words stick in his throat, rising in him like vomit only to be choked back by shame.  Once upon a time, this would’ve been a moment of wonder and exultation, to tell someone like Hanbin how he felt.  Once upon a time, Junhwe had been stupid enough to hope for that, too.  Junhwe’s smarter now. The trouble with fulfilling dreams is that eventually, one must wake up to reality.

 

“…I always knew this was going to happen, right from the start.  I just didn’t know when.” Junhwe says evasively.  “I knew that eventually you and Jiwon would have to…Hanbin, _I’m_ what got between you.  I wanted you too much.”

 

“What are you talking about?” Hanbin says, sitting up slightly, suddenly breathless.

 

“Oh, god.  I love you, Hanbin.” Junhwe whispers miserably, covering his face with his hands again as another sob wracks his body.  “I’m sorry.”

 

Hanbin goes perfectly still, too surprised to move but for the ache of tenderness in his fast-beating heart.  It all finally makes sense now, for himself and for Junhwe, and for Bobby, too.  Hanbin hadn’t thought it was possible, but then, things don’t have to be possible; they merely have to be true.  The words are on his lips before he can stop them, and to his own surprise as much as Junhwe’s, they’re true too, beyond a shred of doubt in his mind.  

 

“I love you, too, Junhwe.” Hanbin says on an exhale.

 

Junhwe trembles violently beneath him.

 

“What about Jiwon?”

 

“Can’t I love both of you?” Hanbin says weakly, trying to laugh but willing himself not to cry as all the pain comes rushing back in, the terrible reality of Bobby’s departure crushing the life out of what should’ve been a moment of tender joy, of discovery and pleasure.  Only the flicker of a dying ember and a curl of smoke remain, as if a strong wind had swept all the heat out of them.  “Is that greedy?”

 

“Maybe.” Junhwe says.  “Either way, it can’t last.” A peaceful field with landmines beneath the surface won’t, can’t, remain peaceful.  There’s too much truth in this to ignore, and Hanbin bites his lip, his eyes shining with tears.  He squeezes Junhwe’s hand again, as if trying to reassure himself that Junhwe’s wrong.

 

And Junhwe knows, though he doesn’t want to, that when the moment comes, Hanbin will choose Bobby.  He doesn’t begrudge them that, because he’s just an interloper, a violator of what they’d built.  They’d spend years rebuilding what Junhwe had kicked over, and that wall would keep everyone out, including and perhaps especially Junhwe.

 

“Where is he?” Junhwe says, to break the painful silence.

 

“Don’t know.” Hanbin says raggedly.  “He wouldn’t answer.  I don’t blame him.”

 

“Should we go looking for him?” Junhwe says after a moment.  “It’s dark, and we don’t know where he is.”

 

“I’ll go.  You stay here.” Hanbin says.

 

“But—”

 

“You stay here.” Hanbin repeats, getting to his feet, though he lets go of Junhwe’s hand only reluctantly.

 

And Junhwe, for once in his life, obeys.

 

 

*

 

 

“I hope you’re happy,” Minho says jokingly, holding open the door for a sodden, dripping Bobby, “I kicked my girlfriend out for you.”

 

As if that’s supposed to make Bobby feel better.  Bobby kicks off his shoes by the door.  “Thanks.” He says tonelessly, pushing back his hood to reveal a snapback as soaked as his jacket, and beneath that, hair as wet as if he’d been pushed into a pool.  Bobby’s shivering with cold, but his expression is tense and blank and absent, as if some greater inner pain is keeping his mind centered around itself and away from his physical discomfort.

 

“Did you go swimming?”

 

“May as well have.” Bobby says.

 

Minho folds his arms, eyes skating over Bobby’s miserable expression: The cold blotchiness of his skin, to puffy dark circles around his eyes, to the haunted, hunted look of pain in a gaze that won’t meet Minho’s own.  Minho had heard it in his voice before he’d said two words over the phone, but he hadn’t pushed too hard.

 

Minho’s been Bobby’s best friend since grade school, when Bobby had reached across to steal Minho’s juice, and Minho retaliated by stabbing Bobby in the back of the hand with a fork.  Bobby hadn’t been hurt badly, and he’d come out of it with a sore hand and a new best friend who’d stick with him for the rest of his life so far.  Minho knows everything about Bobby, knows Bobby forward and back—perhaps even better than Hanbin does—and he knows that only something regarding Hanbin could mark Bobby so deeply.

 

Before he does anything else, he makes Bobby change into a spare set of sweatpants and t-shirt.  Bobby does so without arguing, jaw set and eyes wild and wary, like a beaten dog.  When he’s changed out of his wet clothes and left them in a pile on the bathroom floor, Minho pushes a cup of hot tea in front of Bobby to warm him up, and Bobby pulls it in front of him without drinking, the steam rising in spirals and thawing his frozen expression.

 

Bobby scowls down at the table for so long that Minho’s patience wears thin.  “So?  What happened?” Minho cajoles.

 

Silence, though Bobby’s jaw works as though he’s chewing his tongue, trying to summon bitter words.  Minho waits, but Bobby merely grimaces and takes a sip of tea to delay responding.

 

“It’s something about Hanbin, isn’t it?” Minho says, leaning on a hand, elbow braced against the table.

 

Something clicks into place in Bobby’s head; maybe it’d been Hanbin’s name, maybe it’d been Minho’s tone, but whatever it is, he suddenly can’t hold it back.  “He fucking cheated on me!” He barks, voice surprisingly loud and strong where he’d been mutinously, determinedly silent only a second before.  

 

Minho sits up suddenly, blinking, as much from the shock of Bobby’s sudden volume as in the message itself.  “He _what_?”

 

And then Bobby sags, slumping down over the table, and the tears come before he can help it, sobbing dryly into his folded arms.  Saying it aloud had made it real, had brought the delayed pain and hurt he’d been keeping at bay right to the surface.

 

“I don’t understand.”

 

“What’s not to get?” Bobby says thickly, without raising his head.

 

“I—okay, Jiwon, okay, listen.  I’ll help, don’t worry.  Tell me what happened from the beginning.” Minho says.  Bobby doesn’t move, collecting himself with great deep breaths, trembling.

 

Minho’s phone vibrates in his pocket, and he checks it briefly, distracted.  It’s from Hanbin, and he swipes it open, his heart thumping suddenly with something like anger.

 

_Mino is Jiwon with you? He’s not answering my messages_

 

It isn’t a question he can reasonably ignore, but Minho toys briefly with the idea of ignoring it anyway.  The urge passes as quickly as it’d come, but the spiteful side of him had wanted to for the smallest of moments, just to make Hanbin hurt on Bobby’s behalf.

 

But Minho’s a tiny bit more grown-up than that, and he shakes his head to clear it.  Hanbin deserves to know that Bobby’s safe, but not much more.

 

_Yes._

 

_Thank you.  Please tell him I love him_

 

_No._

 

Minho puts his phone back into his pocket, anger simmering in his gut.  He’d originally been the one to introduce Bobby and Hanbin back in high school, though he’d done so initially without the intent of them falling in love; he hadn’t even expected them to get along so well.  He hadn’t expected things to go south after so long, either, but these things have a way of surprising everyone involved.

 

Hanbin, fierce and hotheaded, top of his class and a workaholic with too much self-imposed responsibility, had been the last person Minho had expected to appreciate Bobby’s confident, languid, moony personality.  Hanbin’s perfectionism pitted against Bobby’s insouciance might’ve been a prescription for disaster.

 

But unanticipated by all sides, it had ended up being the recipe not for catastrophe but for something far greater than the sum of its parts.  Bobby had become the calming balance to Hanbin’s intensity, cushioning him from the brittleness of his own idealism; and in return, Hanbin’s ambition and intellect had galvanized Bobby’s passion, encouraging him to greater heights.  A date had led to a second had led to six months together, and then that had bled almost unnoticed into two years, and then three without so much as the bat of an eyelid. The rest, as they say, is history.

 

And Minho had approved of the change Hanbin had wrought in Bobby without even trying, and vice versa, when they’d begun to place a sense of duty and commitment to one another above their own feelings.  Minho’s the one who’d started all this, and he’s damned if he’ll let them fuck this up on their own.

 

But right now, Minho’s feeling a little less than friendly toward Hanbin, and he’s not about to give him any openings.

 

Bobby sits up, his face blotchy again with tears, and he wipes impatiently at them with the back of his hand.  He launches into the story without so much as a preamble, the words pouring out of him like poison, telling Minho everything:  The fight over money, their meeting with Junhwe and his moving in, how he’d become so close to them so quickly; Junhwe’s first time with Bobby, and how he’d shown Bobby a new side of himself, and the greed and impatience that had driven them all into each other’s arms; finishing dully with the morning’s events, and his own realization that he was no longer Hanbin’s man.

 

The whole story takes more than an hour, and at the end, Bobby and Minho come to similar conclusions:  Bobby had started all this, had unwittingly chosen his own replacement, someone he finally was no longer able to measure up to.  Hanbin had confirmed that choice this morning, when Bobby came home to find them all too eager to jump each others’ bones in the kitchen behind his back.  

 

Minho sees more clearly than Bobby what had happened, but he doesn’t think Bobby’s ready to hear it, so he keeps it to himself.

 

Bobby had always been a quick study, and he’d rarely been so insecure.  But Junhwe had touched on something precarious and desperate deep in Bobby’s heart that Hanbin himself had only ever barely reached, had challenged and eventually relieved Bobby of his perception of his own relevance.

 

Bobby finishes the story, his shoulders dropping lower and lower in the silence between them.  All Minho has to say is, “Jesus, Jiwon.”

 

“You don't have to tell me I brought this on myself.   _I know_.”

 

“I wasn’t going to say that.  I don’t think it’s that simple.” Minho says thoughtfully, and then digs his phone out and sends an amended text to Hanbin.

 

_Sorry about that. Jiwon just told me what happened._

 

Hanbin's reply is immediate.   _Its okay. I deserved it_

 

 _I’m not so sure about that now.  But I do know you guys fucked up._  Hanbin reads the message but doesn’t reply, which is just as well, because Minho doesn’t need nor want to be trapped between Bobby and Hanbin while they fight this out.

 

“I don’t know what to do.” Bobby says helplessly, looking up at Minho in anguish.

 

“Don’t do anything tonight.  You’ll feel better in the morning, and we can decide what to do then.” Minho says.  Then, unsure of how wise what he’s about to say is, he mutters, “I let Hanbin know you’re safe with me so he won't worry.”

 

“Thank you.” Bobby says rigidly.

 

“Come on, it’s late.  Let’s go to bed.”

 

Bobby gets heavily to his feet and follows Minho into his tiny bedroom.  Minho points at the far side of the bed, and Bobby crawls into the mussed covers with his back to Minho while Minho pulls on his pajamas.

 

Minho’s heart aches at the sight of Bobby so helpless, and he slides into bed next to Bobby on the small mattress before turning over to sling an arm companionably over Bobby’s waist.  Minho’s never been attracted to Bobby—they’d experimented before, as curious teenagers, well before Hanbin had ever come into the picture.  Minho had eventually decided he preferred women, on the whole, but even for all that he and Bobby had never really outgrown their affection.  

 

Bobby hasn’t needed Minho for years, but he needs him now.  And Minho, warm and protective and dependable, guards Bobby’s back through the night.

 

 

*

 

 

Hanbin returns only fifteen minutes after he’d left, emerging dripping wet out of the rain into the apartment, and Junhwe can barely stir from where he’s lying on the bed, his head and limbs leaden with emotion.  “Did you find him?”

 

“Got a text.  He’s safe with a friend.  I…” Hanbin says, his voice raw again with the effort of controlling the current of emotion beneath it.  Junhwe tries a watery smile on, but finds it impossible to hold.

 

“I’m glad he’s at least safe.”

 

“Yeah.” Hanbin says weakly, shedding his jacket and shaking drops of water out of his eyes.  “I’ll try to go see him tomorrow.  Maybe we can talk.”

 

“What will you say?” Junhwe says.

 

They’re quiet for another long minute, Hanbin’s face drawn and pale, misery in every line.  “I don’t know.”

 

This time it’s Junhwe who reaches out to touch Hanbin’s hand, and Hanbin comes to him easily, fingers interlacing with barely a thought.

 

But eventually Hanbin gets to his feet, his hand pulling away from Junhwe’s almost without noticing, and he says, “Well, good night,” in a thick voice.  Junhwe can’t speak.  He makes a miserable gesture at Hanbin’s retreating back, and Hanbin closes the door very quietly behind himself.

 

And Hanbin washes his face in the hope that the cold water will rinse away the heavy dark circles beneath his eyes, and then he goes to bed alone, hoping against hope that it’ll all be a bad dream when he wakes up next to Bobby in the morning.

 

Junhwe lies in bed awake for a long time, and not for the first time, he wonders how he’ll fix what he’d broken.


	23. Chapter 23: Orbit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Updating early this week! I've been trying to stick to a once a week posting schedule, but the story is finished, I'm sick as all get out, and I wanted to post, so bleh! :P Hope you enjoy, my loves :D

It’s been a week, and Bobby still can’t bring himself to go see Hanbin.

 

He’d wanted to almost since he’d left, but every time he remembers the two of them holed up happily in the apartment without him, a flood of blinding rage boils up inside him, and it’s all he can do to clamp down on it before it takes a hold of him.  The pain and humiliation are too much to bear, and put paid to Bobby’s good intentions before they reach the surface.

 

Bobby walks to and from work these days, Minho’s apartment being closer to the studio, though his heart’s really not in anything he’s working on right now.  The producer’s headphones Hanbin had given Bobby remain in his locker, untouched.  (He’s thought about breaking them a half-dozen times, but he never could go through with something like that.  For all his resentment and rage, Bobby’s a practical person, and he still holds a grain of hope that this might all work out.  It’s a very tiny hope, but it keeps him from acting on some of his worse urges.)

 

He’d started and scrapped a half-dozen songs out of pure restlessness, unable to find the words to tap the well of agony inside him, flipping pages or tossing crumpled sheets across the room after half a scribbled line or two.

 

Two days after the fight, Hanbin had come unannounced to Minho’s door to try to talk things out, only for Bobby to slam it in his face.  Minho had cast Bobby a reproachful look, then gone outside to walk Hanbin down the stairs and talk a little.  Bobby, instead, retreated further into the apartment, away from the door, away from Hanbin.  That same night Bobby had written an entire song in a rush of renewed fury and hurt, his hand cramped around the pen, his brow furrowed, back and head aching from sleeping on Minho’s sagging couch.

 

And yet for all his misery, this is better than having to face down his own mistake.  Bobby’s running, hiding, and he’s too demoralized to care who knows it anymore.

 

And then one morning, too tired to walk and sitting slouched and gloomy on the park bench waiting for the bus, Bobby’s blank stare settles on a route map next to his seat.  He looks at it a little more closely, and then he realizes that the location of Minho’s apartment takes him within reach of the Cherry Pit; it’s only a few blocks in the opposite direction of the studio, though he hadn’t noticed until now.

 

Resentment and savage hurt boil up in him again uncommanded, as he remembers Donghyuk’s smiling face, of Junhwe’s venture with Yunhyeong, and the way they’d almost _urged_ them into doing this…he knows it isn’t true even as he thinks it, but he needs someone else to blame besides himself, someone else to take responsibility.  He’d blamed Junhwe, but the root of his insecurities have their base in him, and he knows he’d have no chance, no spine to stand against Junhwe.

 

The whole day passes in a haze for Bobby, running hot and cold with anger and bleak hopelessness, and nobody’s sorry to see the back of him on his way out of the studio.  It’s only when he’s leaving that Yang flags him down hesitantly, as if unsure of the reception he’s going to receive.  “Hey, Jiwon.  You dropped something.”

 

Bobby turns to look; one of the sheets has fallen out of his notebook.  Yang picks it up and looks at it briefly.  “Have you been writing new songs?”

 

“Yeah.” Bobby says hoarsely, his voice rough and unfamiliar in his throat from lack of use.  “I don’t care.  Keep that one if you like.”

 

Yang’s fat, perspiring face lights up with excitement as he reads quickly down the page.  “Here, take this back, but I want you to bring it to me tomorrow.  We should talk about this.”

 

“Okay.” Bobby accepts the little paper and stows it in his notebook before tossing the whole lot in his messy locker on top of his producer’s headphones.  He stares at them for a long minute, and then slams the door so hard it rebounds without closing.

 

And instead of going home, galvanized by the anger and wounded pride burning in him, he bypasses Minho’s apartment building and heads straight for the Cherry Pit.  

 

And sure enough, the familiar red light is switched on over the dark inset door, and Bobby lets himself in, preparing himself to talk his way past the bouncer.  However, Bobby’s need to vent his spleen on someone defenseless finds no satisfaction in the doorman; Donghyuk had had Bobby’s and Hanbin’s names placed on the guest list some time back, so Bobby has no trouble getting waved through.

 

As he climbs the stairs, a chill runs down his back at the possibility of running into Junhwe here, and his nerves almost fail him; he almost turns back around to leave, knowing he’s not at all ready to deal with that.  But the urge to back out subsides as he crests the top of the landing, a quick scan of the mostly empty club confirming both that Junhwe isn’t here, and that Donghyuk is.  Bobby spots him at once, chatting idly with the petite blonde bartender and stirring his drink with a straw.

 

Bobby storms across the floor, but Donghyuk sees him before he can make any kind of grand entrance.  “Jiwon!” He says cheerfully, razor-sharp grin flashing in the low light.  “This is a surprise, you don’t usually come here alone!”

 

Bobby had intended initially to be polite, but then his injured ego lurches up as he realizes who he’s facing; and God, it feels so _good_ to blame someone other than himself.  Anger rises in him again as implacably as a failing dam.  Donghyuk reaches for Bobby to kiss his cheeks, but Bobby jerks himself out of Donghyuk’s hold, too angry to feel anything but satisfaction at the surprise and hurt on Donghyuk’s face.

 

“Well, congratulations.  You’ve got your husband all to yourself again, because Junhwe decided he’d rather have mine instead.  Are you fucking happy?” Bobby snarls.

 

Donghyuk blinks, visibly taken aback, and his arms fall to his sides.  However, he regroups almost at once.  “Excuse me?”

 

“You heard me.” Bobby snaps.

 

Donghyuk puts a hand to his forehead, wincing as if praying for strength.  “Oh, boy.  Okay, you’d better come with me.”

 

Whatever response Bobby had been expecting, this wasn’t it, and for as suddenly as the rage had surged up in him, it drains away just as quickly, to be replaced by confusion and maybe a little embarrassment.  Silent, unprotesting, Bobby allows Donghyuk to lead him up a little set of side stairs to an office that Bobby understands is Yunhyeong’s, the same one in which Junhwe had spent an evening with Yunhyeong himself.  The very thought makes Bobby’s stomach ache.

 

“Hey, babe.” Yunhyeong says, looking up from his desk.

 

“Can we use your office for a bit, love?” Donghyuk says.  

 

Yunhyeong nods, getting up from his office chair at once.  “Sure.  Wipe up when you’re finished.” He jokes, slipping around the desk and closing the door behind him, but Bobby remains stony, still too flustered to see any humor in the situation, too surprised to remain sullen and combative.

 

Donghyuk’s going through a glass-fronted cabinet behind Yunhyeong’s desk, and he pours two glasses of amber liquid while Bobby settles himself stiffly on the leather sofa.  He pushes a glass into Bobby’s hand.  “Drink it.” He says.

 

“Scotch?”

 

“Tequila.  I want you to talk.” Donghyuk says briskly.  Bobby makes a face; he’d learned not to like tequila in college, but he takes a sip nonetheless, and he’s surprised yet again to find it smoother and finer than he’d expected.

 

Donghyuk takes a sip from his own glass and settles himself comfortably in the armchair across from the couch, slinging one elegant ankle over the other and balancing his glass on his knee.  “Okay, now tell me what happened.  You don’t have to start at the beginning; just tell me what brought this on.”

 

Bobby doesn’t reply at first, his hand trembling slightly as he brings the glass up to his lips again, hot liquor flowing over his tongue and warming his throat in a way nothing else has been able to so far.  Everything, every awful memory rushes to the surface, blurred, chaotic, a jumble of intensity.  He remembers some things more clearly than others, though:  Hanbin stepping between them, the look of hate on Junhwe’s face, and the sound of his ring bouncing off Junhwe’s forehead in the horrified silence he’d left behind.

 

Bobby sighs, setting his drink on the arm of the sofa to rub his face with both hands.

 

“Feelings got involved, huh?” Donghyuk says conversationally.

 

“No.” Bobby croaks.

 

“You sure?”

 

“Yes.  Hanbin cheated on me with Junhwe, that’s all.” Bobby says, and it’s every bit as painful to say it to Donghyuk as it had been to tell Minho.  Donghyuk taps his chin with an elegant finger, surveying Bobby curiously; Bobby gets the unwelcome impression that Donghyuk is understanding more than Bobby himself is.

 

“How’d you find out?”

 

“Walked in on them making out in the kitchen.” Bobby says listlessly, and his voice breaks on the last word.  Donghyuk hums thoughtfully.

 

“Was that the first time?”

 

“I don’t know.  I guess so.” Bobby says.

 

“If I know _anything_ about Junhwe, you guys probably fucked him, didn’t you?”

 

Bobby scowls, looking sharply at Donghyuk, though the anger in his heart gives a feebler lurch this time.  “You suggested it.”

 

“And you took my suggestion, apparently.” Donghyuk says, apparently satisfied, taking another sip.  “But I’m certain this wouldn’t be an issue if feelings hadn’t become a thing.”

 

Bobby looks at Donghyuk again, more warily this time, because he can almost taste Donghyuk’s smugness; he’s enjoying teasing Bobby, swinging some secret knowledge over his head.  Bobby takes a drink too, to avoid answering.

 

“You fucked Junhwe, too.” Donghyuk says after a moment.

 

“No, I didn’t.” Bobby protests.

 

“You _submitted_ to him.” Donghyuk amends, though the gravity of his tone doesn’t change.  Bobby swallows, and then nods reluctantly.

 

“You have a right to be upset about what Hanbin and Junhwe did.  It wasn’t fair to you.” Donghyuk says seriously.  “Being caught up in the moment happens, but they still owed you the courtesy of being open with you.  Junhwe especially, because he’s supposed to be smarter than that.” He adds, sneering with distaste at his best friend’s thoughtlessness.  “So I want to ask you this.  What do _you_ want to happen?  What would fix it for you?”

 

Bobby hesitates, and his thoughts pull in a hundred directions before he settles on an irritable shrug.  That, however, seems to be what Donghyuk’s looking for, and he smiles, looking Bobby up and down thoughtfully. “Jiwon, I’m sorry, but I don’t think any of this is the real reason you’re upset.”

 

“What, that my husband cheated on me with our roommate?” Bobby says acidly, rolling his eyes.  “That _couldn’t_ be it, not even a little.”

 

“No, I really don’t think so.  At least, not entirely.  I think something else is going on.”

 

Bobby pulls another face, taking a sip, irritated by Donghyuk’s teasing; but Donghyuk knows as well as Bobby does that Bobby won’t accept it unless he’s the one to ask.  And sure enough, curiosity begins to overcome his resentment, and he glances at Donghyuk suspiciously.  Bobby’s prepared to listen to him, if only because he’s so desperate for it all to make sense, to put the fragments of his shattered heart back together.

 

“Alright, fine.  I’ll bite.  What could it _possibly_ be?” Bobby says, eager to know but afraid, too, of what Donghyuk might know—and if what Donghyuk knows, perhaps Junhwe knows, perhaps _everyone_ knows.  Perhaps Bobby is the last to know.  Another chill goes down his back.

 

“I think you’re jealous of _Hanbin_.” Donghyuk says delicately.

 

Bobby raises and then lowers his glass without drinking, his hand suddenly trembling; he clamps down hard on it, reminding himself not to lose it just yet.  Donghyuk’s being infuriating, not giving Bobby the whole truth, letting him seek it out for himself, and perhaps that’s for the best; he’s just hinted at something massive, something terrible and wonderful and shattering all over again, but Bobby can’t seem to get his thoughts to wrap around the truth of it.

 

“So…are you saying…what are you saying?” Bobby says, licking his suddenly dry lips.

 

“Think about it, Jiwon.  You spent all this time pursuing him, learning and working hard to impress him, counting on his approval.  I could see it in your eyes when we talked; even though Yunhyeong was the one who taught Junhwe, and Yunhyeong would’ve gladly taught _you_ if you’d asked, you wouldn’t have wanted anyone but Junhwe to teach you.  You opened yourself to him.”

 

Bobby nods, but doesn’t speak, his chest uncomfortably tight.  Unwelcome understanding is beginning to peer through the shutters, but he closes them even tighter, not wanting to recognize the truth just yet.  It’s too complex, too terrifying even to acknowledge.

 

“You put all this stock into making a mask for yourself that you hoped would impress Junhwe, playing a role for _Junhwe’s_ benefit, not Hanbin’s.  He expanded your horizons so much that you wanted to be the one who expanded his in return.”

 

“That’s not it.” Bobby says suddenly, shaking his head, half-laughing at the ridiculousness of it all.  Donghyuk’s messing with him, he has to be, he’s _joking_.  “I’m upset because Junhwe’s…better than me.  And Hanbin knows it.  Junhwe makes more money, he’s better at the whole Dom gig, he’s…”

 

“You still see Junhwe as superior because of his abilities.  You never turned off that Dom/sub dynamic.” Donghyuk says easily.  “Junhwe taught you; he’s your mentor, not your equal, in your mind.  And that’s why you were so quick to concede to him when he chose Hanbin over you.”

 

“Wait, wait.  This is ridiculous.” Bobby says, draining the last of his drink finally, the warmth of the booze finally loosening his frozen tongue.  “This is _ridiculous_.  Stop fucking with me, Donghyuk.  He chose Hanbin over _me_?  No.  Hanbin chose _him_ over me because he’s better.  I just chose my replacement.”

 

“You think so?” Donghyuk says blandly, still maddeningly calm, even a little amused; it pisses Bobby off to see him so smug, once more like he knows something Bobby doesn’t, swinging it over Bobby’s head like a cat toy while Bobby struggles to grasp at everything he’s hinting toward.

 

“Oh, spit it out, won’t you?” Bobby says, losing patience.  

 

Donghyuk merely smiles, rubbing his chin.

 

“You already know.” He says.  “The only advice I can give you right now is that Junhwe will listen to you if you give him a reason to.”

 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Bobby says testily.

 

“You’ll figure it out.” Donghyuk says easily, getting to his feet, and Bobby gets up too, his head pounding with anger again at Donghyuk’s stupid mysterious hinting around the topic.  “Trust me, if I tell you directly, you’re going to run like hell and make this way worse for everyone involved.  I think you’ll understand better if you come to your own conclusions.  Then you’ll know what to do.”

 

That makes Bobby frown, pausing, and Donghyuk takes a step forward, resting his hands on Bobby’s shoulders.  “Hey.  It’s gonna be alright.  I’m not trying to fuck with you.  Just trust me.”

 

Bobby swallows hard, nodding.  “Alright.  Only…” He hesitates, and Donghyuk looks at him curiously.  “…how do you _know_ this stuff?”

 

“Being a marriage counselor helps, but really, it comes with the territory, love.” Donghyuk holds up his left hand, where his little silver wedding band flashes in the low light.  Bobby allows himself a little smile at the tender expression on Donghyuk’s face.  Donghyuk pulls him into a tight hug and kisses him on the cheek, as is his custom.  “Now, you want to go downstairs and check out the new Catherine wheel Yunhyeong installed this morning?”

 

“By _check out_ , do you mean _take a ride_?”

 

“Sure, if that’s what you want.”

 

“No, I’m good.” Bobby says, and he laughs for the first time in what feels like days.  “I’d better get going.  And…thanks, Dong.”

 

“Thank me once everything settles down, okay?” Donghyuk says, patting Bobby’s face before turning to open the door, and music from downstairs spills into the room suddenly, almost shockingly.  “I’ve got to go help Yunhyeong set up for the demo now.  But you know where to find me if you need help.”

 

“I’ll bear it in mind.” Bobby says, following Donghyuk down the stairs and waving to Yunhyeong as he makes for the club’s exit, his mind full of strange whispers and implications, and even further away, an understanding he’s still not willing to acknowledge.

 

*

 

Hanbin’s just about given up.

 

For every ignored call, for every text reading _I love you_ and _Please talk to me_ and _I miss you, Jiwon_ , Hanbin receives only compounding, hollowing, devastating silence in return.  He’d tried other methods, too:  Bobby had slammed the door in Hanbin’s face when he’d gone to talk face to face, and he has no doubt in his mind that Bobby’s probably shredded the letter he’d mailed to Minho’s apartment.

 

He has no way of knowing that Bobby lies in bed at night staring dead-eyed and anguished at his phone, unable to bring himself to respond and unsure of what to say, his wet eyes flitting over Hanbin’s pleading messages.  Over and over he reads the important ones.   _I’m sorry.  I love you.  Please talk to me._

 

And by now, Hanbin doesn’t know what else to do.  Minho hasn’t been rude to him again, but nor has he been particularly helpful, guarding Bobby’s privacy against Hanbin.  Hanbin understands that, and after a while, he’d stopped asking Minho how Bobby was doing.  Not that he’s stopped caring; only that he gets the sense that Minho wouldn’t tell Hanbin even if Bobby had broken both his legs, if only to keep Hanbin at a distance.

 

Junhwe hasn’t been in a much better state, either.  He’d kept almost entirely to himself, his hands most definitely included in that, too guilty and disgusted with himself to bring himself to touch Hanbin at all.  Only when Hanbin reaches for his hand does Junhwe allow himself any sort of contact, when the emptiness and silence becomes too great.

 

Hanbin had insisted, and still does, that he doesn’t blame Junhwe for all this.  Junhwe doesn’t need Hanbin’s blame.  He’s got plenty of it all for himself, and it’s the foundation for all the guilt and hate he heaps on top of it, until he can’t even see the horizon for the height of it.  He’s at war with himself worse than he ever has been before, hating himself more than he ever has for what he’d done.  He’s far from convinced that his own feelings had justified tearing apart a relationship to satisfy his unruly desire.

 

At least he hadn’t been wrong about being in love with Hanbin, but a Hanbin without Bobby just isn’t the same person he’d learned to love.  All the fire, all the warmth and intensity had drained out of him, leaving him small and tired and quiet.  Junhwe misses Hanbin, misses the Hanbin that’s all dancing firelight and quick wit, but Bobby had taken Hanbin’s edge with him.

 

Junhwe misses Bobby, too.

 

It’s something of a surprise, though Junhwe’s too lethargic to really be surprised by much right now, when Hanbin taps on his door, pushing it open slightly to peer around the edge of it.  “Junhwe?”

 

“Hi.”

 

Hanbin’s eyes are shadowed with exhaustion, his face serious and sad.  “Could I sleep in here with you tonight?” He ventures cautiously.  Junhwe notices the pillow tucked under his arm, and he’s wearing the soft pink pajamas he’d gotten from Bobby’s mom for Christmas.

 

Junhwe smiles, but it feels strained with lack of practice, and he lets it slide off his face without too much struggle.  “Course you can.”

 

And for Hanbin, it feels half like giving up, and half like letting go.  As if he’s no longer laboring under the delusion that he might still wake up next to Bobby in the morning.  Hanbin closes the door behind him, and Junhwe moves over on the bed, t-shirt bunching up around his shoulders as he scoots across the sheets.  He tugs it back into place, and Hanbin sits carefully on the side of the enormous bed, his back to Junhwe.

 

“Not that I mind, but…any reason?” Junhwe says curiously.

 

“No.” Hanbin says hesitantly.  “I just…I just got…I was cold.” He stumbles over his words before settling on that evasive little reply, and then he looks at Junhwe nervously over his shoulder, as if not entirely sure what he’d meant to say, or if he even knows what he’s really feeling.

 

“Then come over here and get warm.” Junhwe says.  His tone carries no flirtation, no suggestion; he doesn’t think he could stand that, for Hanbin to take anything like that from his meaning.  But maybe, for a minute, they’re allowed to find comfort in each other.

 

Hanbin pulls the covers over his legs, settling easily into Junhwe’s side, tucking his head into the comfortable little pit of Junhwe’s shoulder.  It feels nice, but as with everything else, it had been robbed of all the joy and excitement it should’ve contained.

 

Hanbin doesn’t know if it’s because the pain of Bobby’s departure insulates him from feeling anything, or if it had simply taken the color out of the world altogether.  But Junhwe’s warmth, the feel of his hand against Hanbin’s ribs, the sound of his breathing, make Hanbin long to feel something, anything besides pain so deep-seated and terrible that it’d finally rendered him numb.

 

“Junhwe?”

 

“Mmm?”

 

Hanbin had spoken without thinking, and now he hesitates, suddenly embarrassed.  He regrets opening his mouth at all.

 

“What is it?” Junhwe prompts.

 

“Will you tie me up?” Hanbin says in a tiny voice, barely more than a whisper.

 

Junhwe looks down at Hanbin in surprise.  “What?”

 

“Nothing.” Hanbin says, flushing.  “Forget it.”

 

“…You want me to?”

 

“Yes.” Hanbin whispers.

 

“Alright.”

 

Junhwe doesn’t really feel like doing much of anything; the restlessness that’s plagued him for days doesn’t want to be channeled into anything productive, but he sits up in bed nevertheless, and Hanbin sits up with him.  “That’s all we’re going to do, though.  Okay?”

 

“Yeah.” Hanbin nods, licking his lips.  “Just ropes.”

 

Junhwe slides to the end of the bed and pulls one of his plastic bins out from underneath the bed frame, retrieving the coil of silky black rope he’d gotten from Bobby for Christmas.  The memory strikes at him, a sledgehammer blow to the heart, and Junhwe’s suddenly breathless with crushing despair.  Then he collects himself and pushes the bin back beneath the bed.  He can deal with that later.

 

Hanbin is sitting up, watching him expectantly, and Junhwe understands what he’s really trying to do.  This isn’t about sex, not this time; it isn’t even about Dominance.  This is for the both of them to lose themselves in the ritualistic twist of the ropes, and for the cage Junhwe will build for Hanbin to hold him together before he falls apart.  Comfort and freedom in the coils of bondage, for both of them.

 

“How do you want me to do this?” Junhwe says, letting the coil of rope slide down his arm to pool on the floor.

 

“Doesn’t matter.  Do your favorite one.” Hanbin says calmly.

 

At Junhwe’s direction, Hanbin sheds his pajama top and folds his arms behind his back, each hand on the opposite elbow.  Junhwe can already feel him beginning to relax by the first knot, the tension in his shoulders and neck seeping out slowly.  Junhwe slows his pace a little.  He’d chosen a complex tie almost without thinking, but there’s no reason he shouldn’t enjoy it.

 

The rough friction of the rope on his wrists and the grip of it against Hanbin’s skin is comforting, and when Junhwe reaches around him to pull the rope snug around his chest, Hanbin turns his head slightly to catch him in a kiss.  They’re at each other’s mercy as much as their own here like this, and their kisses are serious, deep and slow and tasting of tears.

 

And somehow, both of them know that this is the last time they’ll do this.  A farewell, of sorts, but not in so many words; more a bitter hanging on, knowing one of them has to let go eventually.

 

But for now, they’re absorbed, not healed, merely distracted and calmed by the ritual and meditation of it all:  Twist, pull, knot, kiss…

 

The black rope shines on Hanbin’s gorgeous skin, leaving little pink pressure indents behind when Hanbin adjusts his posture.  His face is flushed now, but his breaths are slow and deep and even, his eyes long-lashed and half-lidded; and the part of his soft, pretty pink lips makes it easy for Junhwe to wrap the rope around between his teeth.  It all leaves Junhwe breathless, partly in reverence, partly in suffocating regret.

 

But all that is becoming secondary to the love and naked trust in Hanbin’s eyes when he looks up at Junhwe, helpless, bound as fast and tight as a butterfly in a net.  That sleepy, deeply receptive fog of utter submission he’d grown so familiar with over the last few months is creeping in now, the bite of the rope beginning to feel less like tension and more like pleasure.  His breaths come more quickly, eyes beginning to glaze over, tongue probing curiously at the damp rope in his mouth.

 

One very long length of rope twisted and knotted into the shape of trust, of honesty and love.  And if either of them realize what a fucked-up, weird shape it ends up being, well—neither of them are in a position to be concerned about it just now.

 

Hanbin’s hard in his sweatpants, and the little windows of his skin visible between lengths of shiny black rope are so tantalizing, yet Junhwe finds he isn’t aroused.  Whatever he’s doing is something else now, something powerful and sensual, but not entirely or even significantly sexual.  It might be lovemaking, and Junhwe almost laughs at the revolting cheesiness of the word, but manages to control it at the last moment.

 

“How’s that feel?” Junhwe says finally, drawing the ends of the rope through a loop to secure it.  Hanbin lets out a long sigh of satisfaction, mumbling something around the rope between his teeth.  He nods to let Junhwe know he likes it, and Junhwe pulls him up to lay in his lap, bending down to kiss him over the top of the rope.

 

“May as well be hanged for a pound as for an ounce, I guess.” He says with a little smile, gently wiping a drop of drool from the corner of Hanbin’s mouth.  Hanbin tries to smile too around the rope, emotions held together with knotted string, and Junhwe brushes his hair out of his eyes and kisses him again.  “I’m gonna untie you now.”

 

He begins from where he’d ended, reversing each knot with slow deliberation, teasing the rope out into one length again.  Hanbin sighs with relief and longing with every loosening coil, his body happy to be free again but his heart less and less restrained.  He groans when Junhwe removes the doubled rope from between his lips, tonguing the abraded corners of his mouth.  Junhwe kisses him again, and now Hanbin’s mouth is free to respond, trying to put all the unsaid things into the gesture.  It doesn’t escape him that he’s still utterly at Junhwe’s mercy, ends of the rope still caught tightly in Junhwe’s hand.

 

The last loop of the rope falls away to slide off the bed and land in a heap by the rug, and as it does, something deep in Hanbin’s chest releases, for all the world as if everything bound up inside him had finally been undone too.  His next breath catches on a sob, and then the tears finally come, _finally_ , burning like acid in his eyes and spilling down his cheeks.

 

“Oh, god.  Are you okay?  Did I hurt you?” Junhwe says, sitting up urgently, but Hanbin’s trembling, suddenly sobbing too hard even to speak.  He flings himself at Junhwe, burying his face in Junhwe’s shoulder.

 

But Junhwe knows what’s happened, and he finds he doesn’t have nearly as good a grip on his emotions as he’d thought, either; and Hanbin’s sobs find an echo in Junhwe’s throat, something deep and painfully private loosened and released, until there was nothing left to stop the surge.

 

“I’m sorry.” Hanbin croaks, sniffing hard to clear his running nose.

 

“It’s okay.  It’s okay.” Junhwe says, brushing tears away from Hanbin’s cheek.  Hanbin turns his face into the soft touch, kissing the palm of Junhwe’s hand with swollen lips, his breath hot with emotion against the base of Junhwe’s thumb.

 

“I love you, Junhwe.”

 

Junhwe can’t bring himself to speak around the knot in his throat, but Hanbin understands.

 

*

 

Bobby had initially asked Minho to stay for a night, maybe two nights; for all intents and purposes, he’d meant to move on, though to where he’d admittedly had no idea.  On the run with no destination, only a powerful urge to flee and hide his eyes from the mistakes that had swept his entire life out from under him.  He’s gone to ground, though he doesn’t know it.

 

But two nights had become a week, and then two, and now three, with Bobby doing his level best to earn his keep and give himself some kind of purpose, since Minho hasn’t asked him to pay rent or buy groceries.  Most nights he manages to cook dinner for the two of them or tidy up the place, and most nights he barely eats any of whatever he’d made.  

 

He can’t help thinking, his security shaken as deeply as it had been, that Minho’s losing patience, though by no gesture or word has he indicated that he might be.  Bobby’s got nowhere else to go, however, so he stays, nursing the gaping wound in his heart that nothing seems to fill, and tries to make himself useful.  Minho had joked at the beginning that Bobby was better wife material than his actual girlfriend, but two weeks in his company had taken most of the humor out of the joke.

 

He’s done his best not to think about his encounter with Donghyuk, or the infuriating way he’d smirked, teasing Bobby with hints at something too big, too terrifying to comprehend all at once.  He doesn’t want to understand the truth.  He’d already glimpsed part of it, and though he’d done his best to draw the shades over it again, it was a truth he’d come to realize like the light of dawn that pushes back the darkness and extinguishes the stars one by one, snuffing out excuses and creeping past every curtain he could draw against it.  

 

The terrifying conclusions he’d drawn from their conversations keep him awake at night again with despair and loneliness.  He can certainly understand now why Donghyuk hadn’t wanted to tell him outright; he’d been quite correct to guess that Bobby would’ve run like fuck.  He’s not so sure he isn’t about to anyway.

 

Bobby wakes half-buried in couch pillows, leaning heavily to one side on a painfully benumbed arm, groggy with emotion and restless half-sleep.  He doesn’t remember falling asleep last night, but he must have done, because his notebook is still open on his thigh and the pencil lying along his leg in the dent his weight makes in the couch cushion.  

 

He sits up, stretching and then rubbing his sore eyes with the heels of his hands, wondering not for the first time if he’s doomed to feel like this for the rest of his life.  The ache of where Hanbin used to be inside him feels cut away, still as raw and ugly as the first day it’d happened, and it doesn’t waste any time in making itself known.

 

He gets to his feet, notebook falling to the floor where Bobby leaves it, and drags himself into the kitchen to drop into the chair opposite Minho, who’s already dressed for work and looking very sharp in his collared shirt and purple tie.  Bobby feels comparatively very poorly groomed indeed, and he pulls his snapback on over his limp, unwashed hair out of a sense of sudden self-consciousness.

 

He doesn’t know it, but hunger and exhaustion and sadness have taken their toll too, and the skin of his face is tight and deeply shadowed, marked by his heartache.

 

“Hey.” Minho says.

 

“Hi.”

 

“There’s coffee.” Minho says, as always, jerking a thumb over his shoulder.  Bobby gets up again and grabs a mug out of the cabinet, and his hands don’t quite feel like they belong to him as he pours himself a shaky cup.

 

Minho looks him over once as he sits down, and his lip curls impatiently.  “Jiwon, eat some breakfast.  You haven’t had anything but a box of doughnuts since you’ve been here.  Have something substantial.”

 

“I’m not hungry.” Bobby says listlessly.

 

Minho frowns, and it’s an expression so redolent of Hanbin that for a moment he feels galvanized, only for it to pass as quickly as it’d come; it’s in fact worse, because for that little sudden shock, he feels even more weary once it’s subsided.  “Eat.” Minho says, pushing an empty bowl at Bobby, and Bobby stares at him mutinously for a second before relenting.

 

“So, what are you going to do?” Minho says conversationally around a mouthful of cereal.

 

Bobby knows what he means, and he prods at his cereal with his spoon, shrugging to avoid answering.  Minho continues to watch him closely, however, undeterred by Bobby’s resentful silences.

 

Nettled by Minho’s persistent staring, Bobby finally says, “I don’t know.”

 

Minho sighs impatiently.  “Look, you need to _do_ something, not mope around my apartment waiting for a Sign From Above.  Not that I don’t like having you here, but you’re hiding from your own problem, and frankly, you’re being kind of pathetic about it.”

 

Bobby blinks up at Minho, taken aback, but Minho stares back levelly.  He points at Bobby with his spoon as if Bobby’s being willfully stupid.  “It’s up to you to make the attempt to fix this, because Hanbin’s already tried.  It’s on your shoulders.”

 

“I don’t know how.” Bobby says, looking away from the intensity of Minho’s challenging gaze.

 

“You don’t know how because you want to fix it from your own perspective, and _you_ don’t know what you want.” Minho says severely.  “You’ve got to swallow your injured pride for a minute and face it head on.”

 

Bobby’s silent for a moment, staring at the table, his eyes darting between Minho’s face and his cereal bowl.  He takes a spoonful of cereal, and then immediately puts it back down in his bowl.  His voice is very small, almost ashamed, when he says, “What if he doesn’t want me anymore?”

 

Minho sighs, rubbing his forehead.  He’d been afraid of that question.  “Then…then at least you’ll know, and knowing for sure is better than guessing.  If he says _yes,_ then you don’t have to be afraid.  And if he says _no_ …then you can begin to move on.”

 

Bobby’s expression firms into something like resolution, and then he nods.  “Yeah.”

 

“Got a plan?”

 

“Hell, no.” Bobby says disgustedly.  “I don’t think…I’m not ready to talk to Hanbin yet.”

 

“What about Junhwe?”

 

Bobby winces.  “Definitely not.”

 

“Won’t, or can’t?” Minho suggests slyly.

 

“Both.”

 

And then Bobby looks across the table at Minho, and just for a moment Minho can see all the way to his soul, the love and shame and regret in his eyes, just before he looks away, his expression closing off into something rebellious and defiant.

 

“Jiwon, what’s _really_ wrong?” Minho says, and his tone is different now, coaxing, gentler.  Bobby swallows hard.

 

“It’s silly, it’s so stupid.” Bobby says, maybe just a little desperate to believe that what he’s about to say isn’t true, imploring Minho to agree with him.  “I went to see Donghyuk last week, and…he said, well—he didn’t say it, he just hinted at it like an asshole—”

 

“Stop fucking around and tell me.”

 

“He said I’m in love with Junhwe.” Bobby finishes, his voice very small again, and he isn’t looking at Minho.  Then he laughs shakily.  “Ridiculous, right?  Total BS.”

 

To Bobby’s horror, however, Minho nods.  “It makes sense.”

 

Bobby puts his head down on the table.  “Oh god, don’t say that.  You’re supposed to be on my side, you fucker.” He says plaintively.

 

“I _am_ on your side.” Minho says blandly, standing up to refill his coffee.  “From what you’ve told me, you’re scared because you’ve placed Junhwe on this pedestal, and you conceded to him because you think he’s better than you, more useful.  To you, it’s only natural that Hanbin would choose Junhwe, mostly because you gave Junhwe power over yourself.”

 

Bobby makes a face, a humorless smile on his mouth, trying not to hear the truth in Minho’s words.  Junhwe’s face swims in Bobby’s mind, blurred as if through a veil of heat haze, his sardonic, self-satisfied smirk making Bobby’s stomach clench with humiliation.  How could he ever tell Junhwe something so stupid—Junhwe, who might respond to it with derision, or worse, with polite rejection?

 

 _Well, fuck._  Bobby hadn’t realized how much that mattered to him until now.  

 

“And what if he says no?”

 

Minho snorts impatiently.  “What if your nose falls off?  What if you go bald before thirty?  What if Hanbin dies choking on a chicken wing tomorrow?”

 

Bobby goes a little pale at this, and Minho stops, suddenly aware of the emotional waters he’s just stepped into.  “Sorry.  The point is the same.  What if?   _What if._  It’s just better to find out the answer, even if you’d rather the question had never been asked.  The answer will help you decide what to do, rather than waiting for someone else to make the decision.”

 

“Yeah.” Bobby says, nodding, sucking on his lower lip thoughtfully.

 

“You should probably take a shower first, though.  You smell okay, but you look like you just came off a two-day bender.  If you show up on the doorstep looking like that, Hanbin just might turn you out for real.”

 

Bobby smiles at that, a real smile, and it’s the first reaction Minho’s really gotten out of him the whole time.  Minho thinks with relief that Bobby’s feeling a little bit hopeful, at least for a moment.  

 

It doesn’t last long, however, and Bobby’s expression quickly grows sober again as he wills once more for the sunlight striking in on him not to be real, not to be true; but the reality of it has already begun eating away at the seal of his rage and pain, leaving him horribly raw and vulnerable in a way he’s never been before.  And while he might’ve had a chance at denying Donghyuk, Minho has never pulled any punches with him.

 

He can’t be in love with Junhwe.  He _can’t_.  It’s impossible.  He’s always been Hanbin’s man; nothing and nobody could’ve changed that for him.

 

Except Junhwe.

 

And as usual, things don’t have to be possible.  They only have to be true.

 

And nevermind telling Junhwe—how could he ever tell _Hanbin_?

 

Somehow, he thinks Hanbin has already figured it out.  He’s smart like that.  Bobby just has to catch up.

 

“And even supposing all that works out,” Bobby says, his voice distant to his own ears with the sudden buzzing in his head, hardly knowing what he’s saying, “how could I possibly choose between them?”

 

Minho grins back at Bobby, and Bobby looks back pleadingly.

 

“Who says you have to choose?”

 

 


	24. Chapter 24: Satellite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god you guys only one more chapter left?? Good lord.
> 
> I love you guys <33333

By the end of the third week of Bobby’s absence, Junhwe’s made up his mind.

 

Today is the third time in as many days that Junhwe’s come home to find Hanbin crying in the Master bedroom.  Ostensibly, it’s to hide his feelings out of a sense of misplaced courtesy to Junhwe; but really it’s because Bobby’s still as remote as ever, and losing something so significant can’t be grieved in a day.  Their shared bedroom, the smell of Bobby on the pillow and the cold, empty spot on the side he used to prefer simply provides the hot stove on which to place his hand, to draw the pain up to the surface.

 

Junhwe doesn’t feel at all like himself these days, crippled by his sense of self-loathing and dissatisfaction, and the Hanbin sleeping soundly with his head tucked under Junhwe’s chin feels cool and small in his arms, no longer hot and vibrant, a pale imitation of the Hanbin Junhwe had fallen for.  Junhwe hates it, hates everything about it.

 

Hanbin and Junhwe cling together for what feels more like support than love, but even that feels hollow and watered down.  Bobby had taken the light out of their lives with him, leaving everything grey and flat, full of forced laughter and a dull-eyed imitation of life as usual.  The whole apartment positively reeks of despair, and still they smile at one another, marching onward in the driving rain, a superficial pretense of routine, like playing house.

 

But nothing can assuage the brutal, nauseating guilt that pumps through him in the early dark hours of the morning.  He loves Hanbin, but ill-gotten gains will always be ill-spent, and this is no way to live, trying to rebuild the wreck of a relationship he’d destroyed into something suitable to house Hanbin in.  Hanbin deserves better, and so does Bobby.  Junhwe…deserves nothing of what he’d taken.

 

Lying wide-eyed and uncomfortably warm beside Hanbin in the bleak, black hours before dawn, Junhwe makes his decision.

 

And he wonders if he should tell Hanbin outright, so as not to surprise him, or if he should wait until the last moment; or perhaps if he should wait until afterward entirely, and explain his decision from a distance.  Because Hanbin’s certain to try to talk him out of it, and that would make it so much harder for both of them to do what must be done, for everyone’s sake.  

 

He knows it’s selfish even as he thinks it, not to do Hanbin the courtesy of knowing he’s leaving, but Junhwe has already been there.

 

And maybe, if Junhwe leaves, perhaps Bobby will finally come back.

 

Hanbin moves slowly in the mornings now, heavy-eyed and pale, and he stares at himself in the full-length mirror on the bathroom door, wondering who the fuck that is looking back at him.  He centers the little Mickey Mouse tie clip onto his tie, as usual, and then shrugs his jacket on, not wanting to look himself in the eye any longer.

 

He pecks Junhwe on the cheek on his way out the door, and Junhwe smiles sadly, knowing there’s every chance he might not see Hanbin again after this.  His heart aches in his chest, pleading for another day, another hour, another minute; crying out to tell Hanbin right then and there, to beg Hanbin to convince him not to leave, but he crushes the urge ruthlessly before it can take hold.

 

And then Hanbin’s gone, and Junhwe’s throat is thick with unshed tears, but he swallows them back and gets to work, pausing only to text Yunhyeong for help.  Yunhyeong agrees to come, but he isn’t impressed; however, he doesn’t go on about it, for which Junhwe is grateful.

 

_Cant come until later, is that ok_

 

_Yes.  Just before Hanbin gets home._

 

_Ok I’ll let u know when i can b there_

 

He’s still got several boxes left over from his move of several months before, collapsed and hidden in the storage side of the loft, and Junhwe begins the painstaking process of expanding and taping them.  Only a sense of ruthless grit keeps him going as he begins to pile his belongings less than carefully into the boxes.

 

He’d thought this place was a godsend when he’d moved in.  He’d been right, but he’d also been terribly, devastatingly wrong.

 

It doesn’t take him long to finish packing his smaller belongings, though by now the sun is full risen and shining into his bedroom in cheerful spite of how dark Junhwe feels.  His whole world is crumbling around him, and yet the sun goes on shining.  Junhwe kicks a box out of his way to vent his feelings, but it doesn’t help.

 

He turns his attention to the next logistical issue, which happens to be his recliner and the enormous, insanely heavy iron filigree bedstead, and wonders just how fucking stupid he really is.  He’d had help bringing it up the stairs to begin with, and there’s no way he’s going to be able to get Yunhyeong to come and help him move it in time.

 

No matter.  He’s slept on floors before.  He’ll get through this.

 

Somehow.

 

Junhwe runs through a mental list of possible solutions, rolling his eyes in frustration as he casts off each one with a derisive sneer.  Then, suddenly drained by a wave of hopelessness, he sits on the edge of the bed, rubbing his face and wondering what the hell he’s going to do.  Briefly, he contemplates calling Yunhyeong again, if only to beg for advice.  He couldn’t do it, and never would, but the idea is tempting nonetheless.

 

And that’s when he hears the apartment door opening.

 

Panic wells up in him at once, and for a second he wonders if Hanbin had come home unexpectedly for lunch, or if Yunhyeong had arrived without telling him.  

 

What he does know is that he can’t explain the mess in his room away, and he also knows Hanbin’s sharp enough to be suspicious if Junhwe were to try to hide it from him.  He swallows down the heartbeat suddenly hammering fast and hollow in his throat and gets to his feet, moving into the hallway defensively, preparing himself to explain away his actions to Hanbin and resigning himself to an argument that’s bound to only make things harder on everyone.

 

“‘Lo?  Anyone here?  Hanbin?”

 

The pulse beating frantically in Junhwe’s veins suddenly stops dead, a hysterical urge to bolt erupting anew in him as Bobby steps slope-shouldered and dismal into the entryway, looking as lost and hopeless as a puppy.

 

“Jiwon?” Junhwe can’t help it; it’s out of his mouth before he can stop himself, and Bobby’s head snaps around, his whole body straightening up in surprise.  Junhwe had steeled himself against the possibility of Hanbin’s tears, but he’s not at all prepared for this, to cope with someone who might punch him out.  He takes a deep, shaky breath, trying hard to control himself in spite of the fear suddenly wringing his guts.

 

But Bobby’s body language is all wrong, slumping from surprise into something more despondent than aggressive.  Junhwe relaxes after a second too, once he registers that Bobby isn’t going to hit him.  He straightens up, and then there’s a long, measuring silence in which the temperature in the room plummets until it’s unbearable, and then goes right on dropping, ice forming in Junhwe’s mouth as he waits.

 

Neither of them want to break the silence, but in the end, it’s up to Bobby, and they both know it.  Bobby takes another cautious step into the room, and then he takes a deep breath as though to speak; nothing comes out, but the corners of his eyes are suddenly wet with tears, and he brushes them away fiercely, his shoulders shaking with a stifled sob.

 

Junhwe finds himself taking a step forward too, curious as much as wary.  He’d been prepared, in a way, to spit furious words in Bobby’s face, to shove him away and grind Bobby’s nose in how upset and worried they’d been; and yet the spite, the hurt, the anger is nowhere to be found, and in its place only a tender sadness, as if all he wants to do is wipe away the shadows under Bobby’s eyes.

 

This is a moment of conciliation, and both of them know it.  Bobby raises his arms in invitation, almost supplication, unable to look Junhwe in the eye, unable to move.  

 

And while it had been on Bobby to initiate, it’s on Junhwe to accept.

 

He does, stepping into Bobby’s hold and sweeping Bobby into a hug.  Bobby’s arms encircle him in turn, painfully tight around his ribs, face buried in the neck of Junhwe’s hoodie.  “Oh god, Junhwe, I’m sorry.” He says, his voice tight and cracked, muffled into Junhwe’s shoulder.  “I am so, so sorry.”

 

“I know.” Junhwe says, a little stiffly, and Bobby breaks down all at once, sobbing openly into Junhwe’s shoulder.  Junhwe’s surprised to find his own eyes stinging with tears too, though whether genuine or merely sympathetic he isn’t sure himself; he bites his lip to keep them suppressed, with little success, and for a while they stand there together, clinging and crying and so pathetic that they’ll find it comical later.

 

“I’ve been a fucking douchebag, Junhwe.” Bobby says heavily, leaning back a little to wipe his swollen eyes on the sleeve of his own sweatshirt.

 

“Yeah, you have.” Junhwe says with a weak laugh.

 

“I’m really sorry.  Can you forgive me?”

 

“I don’t know that my forgiveness really matters at this point.” Junhwe hedges, not meeting Bobby’s eyes, glancing involuntarily toward his bedroom.  Bobby follows the flick of his gaze, and then he takes in the boxes Junhwe had spent the morning packing, stacked haphazardly in the entryway of his bedroom.

 

“What’s with the boxes?” Bobby says curiously, disengaging his arms from around Junhwe’s body to pull away.  

 

Junhwe can see from his expression that he already knows, but he hesitates anyway; he knows the conversation he’d been hoping to avoid is finally at hand.  “I’m moving out.”

 

“Wait, moving out?  Why?”

 

Junhwe sighs again, guilt and misery stirring inside him.  “I thought that if I left, you’d come back.  And…I was the one who ruined…everything.  It was all my fault.  I couldn’t live with that kind of guilt.”

 

Bobby laughs, but it’s a laugh with as much affection as bitterness contained within.  “You’re such a jerk, Junhwe.  I didn’t come back here to kick you out.”

 

Junhwe ignores this.  “I wanted to be gone before Hanbin came back because I didn’t want him to try to talk me out of it.” He says resolutely.  “I admit I didn’t think it through very well.”

 

“Will you give _me_ the chance to try talking you out of it?” Bobby says quietly.

 

Junhwe _had_ been prepared to face down Hanbin’s tears, perhaps, or his anger, but nothing in the world could’ve prepared him for this.  All the walls he’d put up hastily to protect himself from an attack fall like sandcastles hit by the incoming tide, swept away in the face of Bobby’s request.  And Junhwe is so tired, tired of carrying his heart around in boxes full of love and regret, tired of trying to run away from the problem he’s caused.

 

“Alright.”

 

“Come for a walk with me.” Bobby says, tossing his keys on the counter.  “If you still want to leave when we come back, then I won’t argue.  But you won’t need to if I do this right.”

 

Junhwe’s curious now, a little apprehensive at Bobby’s mysterious words; what could Bobby possibly have to tell him that would change his mind?  But he also knows that hope is better than disillusionment, so he doesn’t argue.

 

“Never thought I’d see the day you tried to persuade me to stay.” Junhwe says, shrugging on a coat and wiping again at his damp cheeks, hoping the flush of his crying could be taken for cold.

 

“Don’t whine,” Bobby says, “just…I’ve got a lot to tell you.  I think you’ll want to hear it.”

 

They descend the stairs together, side by side, and Bobby cautiously takes Junhwe’s hand in his own as they walk.  His hand is warm and soft in stark contrast to the still, cold air of the stairwell.  Bobby doesn’t look at Junhwe, but Junhwe looks at him in surprise, and the shy smile on Bobby’s lips says a great deal more than he’d hinted at.

 

They walk in silence for what feels like a long time, companionably, comfortably.  Whatever had broken between them doesn’t require words or apologies to patch the great holes in their silence, only the quiet and the warmth of Bobby’s and Junhwe’s fingers laced together.

 

And in that quiet, Bobby realizes that Donghyuk had been right all along.  He’d idolized Junhwe almost from the beginning; Junhwe’s skill and passion had blasted Bobby’s horizons open, leading Bobby down an adventure trail into wild, uncharted territory, with Junhwe as his guide and Hanbin as his charge along the depths and joys of BDSM.

 

But somewhere along the line, behind the masks and the smoke and mirrors of Dominance, Bobby had forgotten that Junhwe was a friend.  He’d been unable to face a Dom, and he’d been too preoccupied with his reverence that he’d never really given much thought to the wry smiles and whiplash humor, to Junhwe’s honesty and sincerity, or the kindness and generosity of his nature.  

 

To be sure, Junhwe had hidden his vulnerability well, overlaying it thickly with sarcasm and laconic flippancy and the mask of his Dominant, but Bobby finally sees that his perception of Junhwe as a mentor had kept him from seeing Junhwe’s humanity.  However, some quiet, understanding part of him _had_ been aware of it, and that’s the part Bobby had needed most to become familiar with:  That which had fallen in love with the real Junhwe after all.

 

“I’m really sorry, Junhwe.” Bobby says at last.

 

“I’m sorry too.” Junhwe says, squeezing Bobby’s hand in his own.  Bobby looks across at Junhwe directly, the intensity of his dark eyes making Junhwe fight for every second of eye contact, like staring into the sun.  “I never meant for all this to happen.”

 

“It’s my fault for getting you mixed up in it.”

 

“It’s not that simple.  I didn’t do it because you asked me to.  I did it because I wanted to, and all you did was give me permission to do it.  I never had any intent of trying to steal Hanbin from you, or interfere in your relationship.”

 

They walk along more slowly now, because the words suddenly take up too much room in their chests, and they can’t seem to get enough air in their lungs to push them all out.

 

“What _were_ you trying to do, exactly?”

 

“Nothing at first.” Junhwe mumbles, and though he makes a brave attempt at sounding casual, his voice shakes.  “There wasn’t any plan.  You asked me to play, and that’s all I wanted.  And you were the best, I had the time of my life playing with you both.  And then life said _‘fuck your plan’_ , and…feelings.”  Junhwe fumbles the last word stupidly, stopping short just a second too late.

 

“Feelings?”

 

Junhwe stops walking suddenly, and Bobby jerks to a halt as well in surprise; Junhwe takes a moment to kick himself, because once again his fat mouth has gotten him into trouble.  He’d promised himself some time ago to take it to the grave; and yet, he’s about two steps away from tumbling headfirst into the hole he’s dug for himself.  He may as well open the casket and get in, if only for the sake of a dignified exit.

 

But in the end, there’s nothing for it.  He’d brought it up, and wishes he hadn’t, but Bobby is looking interested, and Junhwe sighs.  “Damn.  You weren’t supposed to know that.”

 

“Tell me.” Bobby says calmly.

 

Bobby waits patiently, curiously, though Junhwe hesitates for a long time, long enough that he squeezes Junhwe’s hand in prompt.  Junhwe’s little laugh is unbearably bitter when he finally says, “I love him.”

 

Bobby offers Junhwe a little smile, squeezes Junhwe’s hand in his own, though the unhappiness of his tone makes Bobby’s heart bounce uncomfortably in his chest.  He can’t decide if it’s elation to know Hanbin’s loved by someone like Junhwe, or if it’s fear again that he’ll be left in the cold.  

 

But one thing’s for sure:  He can’t give up on his message yet.  He’s got to try.  “I know.”

 

Junhwe continues hastily, awkwardly, uncomfortable with the depth of confession he’s just committed to.  “I care about you, too, though, and you’re important to me.  And Hanbin…Hanbin wants both of us.  I’m willing to give him that, if you’ll…you know.  If you’ll have me.”

 

“God, how romantic.  With a line like that, how could I resist?” Bobby teases, pinching Junhwe’s upper arm gently, bringing the conversation back to a comfortable level of humor and caution.

 

They’re dancing around the issue, touching lightly on the real message, still not sure how to present their thoughts.  It doesn’t matter.  They have all the time in the world to feel one another out, to be sure of each other, and Bobby’s not quite ready to be the first one to drop his guard, and yet there are things he has to say, poisonous things, hurtful things.

 

They walk in silence again.  Bobby’s voice cracks miserably when he says, “It _was_ pretty fucked up that you guys went behind my back.  I felt so replaceable.”

 

Junhwe’s mouth is full of words in reply, but his tongue is paralyzed by the stark pain and fear in Bobby’s voice.  Whatever Bobby had gone through must’ve been much harder alone, and Junhwe flushes hotly, guilty and ashamed all over again.  Bobby presses Junhwe’s hand reassuringly, but that serves only to intensify the burn of his self-abasement, feeling that he’s never deserved anything less than Bobby’s reassurance.

 

“Yeah, it was.” Junhwe agrees, wincing.  “Would you believe _he_ came on to _me_ that day?”

 

“Did he?” Bobby says, looking surprised, but to Junhwe’s relief, he doesn’t seem too upset by this knowledge.  “You’re not just saying that to shift blame?”

 

“No.  After all, I took it and ran.  I…wanted him _so_ fucking bad.” Junhwe says painfully.

 

“I honestly thought you wanted to take Hanbin away from me.  Or…no, what I really thought was that he wanted you more.  I thought you were so much better for him than I was, and I didn’t trust either of you.” Bobby mumbles.

 

“You know that isn’t true.”

 

“I know, but he’s everything to me.” Bobby replies softly.  “I live to make him happy.  And at one point, I’d probably have forced him to choose between us, but…”

 

“You _would_ have?” Junhwe says curiously, and Bobby bites his lip, falling silent.  “What changed?”

 

“… _I_ don’t want you to leave.”

 

Junhwe doesn’t stop walking, but he does look sharply down at Bobby, catching more in his tone than Bobby had said openly.  “What exactly are you saying?” He prompts slyly.  Bobby reddens, sheepish, smiling, and he squeezes Junhwe’s hand again.  
  
“Don’t blame me for being awkward.  It’s been so long time since I had to confess my feelings to someone that I’m out of practice.” Bobby says evasively, flushing deeper.

 

“Is that right?” Junhwe says, feeling himself blushing too.  He’s too giddy to mind, however, as something warm and deeply happy suddenly rushes into his veins, a little hitch in his heartbeat as it jumps up into his throat.  “Well, I’m glad you’ll date me on Hanbin’s behalf.  Better than a punch in the face, I suppose.” He adds, and hopes Bobby will catch onto the insecurity underlying the joke.  There’s something pressing at him, something urgent and half-painful, something he’s got to _know_.

 

But Bobby doesn’t catch it, at least not obtrusively, and his tone is teasing when he says, “Let’s not get carried away.  I’ll _tolerate_ you on Hanbin’s behalf.”

 

“Gee, how romantic.” Junhwe says dryly, tossing Bobby’s own words back at him.  Bobby laughs outright for the first time, and Junhwe finds himself laughing too, though at what he’s not sure; only a sense of pervasive and utter relief, of the rightfulness of Bobby’s return, the release of tension between them as something settles into place.  Only that lurking insecurity remains unsatisfied, and Junhwe laughs because he can’t help it.  He’s simply overwhelmed.

 

Junhwe puts a hand in his jeans pocket, and his fingertips brush something deep at the bottom of it, something small like a coin.  He digs it out and realizes it’s Bobby’s ring that he’d thrown at Junhwe’s face some weeks before.  Junhwe had picked it up before it’d gotten swept behind the refrigerator, but with one thing and another, he’d forgotten to return it to Hanbin.

 

“Oh.” Junhwe says, pausing at the edge of the sidewalk where the traffic is speeding past, “Here.  You might want this back.”

 

Bobby looks at it, swallowing hard, his expression familiarly guilty.  He holds out his free hand, and Junhwe places the little gold band with its green stone in his palm.  Bobby slips it on cautiously, and then grimaces, turning away from Junhwe.  “Sorry.”

 

“I forgive you.” Junhwe says, and he means it; Bobby smiles at him, a smile of such relief and joy that Junhwe’s senses stumble over one another.

 

And like Bobby had learned before, so Junhwe sees now as they stand together at the crosswalk, Bobby hammering the button and waiting for the signal to change—he knows that some truths can’t be hidden, that some lessons and realizations thrust themselves upon him like sunlight through curtains.

 

And then all at once, in that brilliant blaze of understanding, Junhwe realizes it wasn’t Hanbin he’d fallen in love with after all.

 

Bobby steps into the crosswalk, and Junhwe follows at the pull of his hand, suddenly helpless, directionless, dazed with the unexpected answer to that urgent question he hadn’t even known he had.

 

“Jiwon.”

 

“Mmm?”

 

“I—” The words bubble up helplessly in his throat, but still something holds him back, something not unlike shame, the pressure hot and unbearable and frightening all at once.

 

“What is it?”

 

And then Junhwe hears a shout, a screech; he catches a sharp blow in the small of the back that leaves him winded and sends him sprawling among a sudden catastrophe of noise and tangled limbs.

 


	25. Chapter 25: Polaris

Hanbin’s phone rings, vibrating noisily across the surface of his desk, but he stabs moodily at the screen with his index finger without looking at it to decline the call.  He’s working under a time crunch today, and besides, right now there isn’t anyone calling him that he really wants to talk to.

 

Weeks of misery, of malaise and heartbreak, have slowed his thoughts and workflow significantly.  Hanbin’s actually glad of the amount of work he’s got today, though; the deadlines keep him on track, distracting him from the gaping wound in his soul.  He shuffles some papers together, tapping them on the desk and clipping them with a binder clip, when his phone buzzes again.

 

This time it’s a text from Junhwe, and Hanbin pushes it away without reading it; he’s really got to get his shit in order for the oncoming company audit.  That means more late nights, not to mention painful amounts of stress, but Hanbin can’t bring himself to care too much just now.  Quitting time is no longer what it used to be, not when he’s headed home to the cold comfort of a half-empty, dark apartment.  Junhwe does his best, and Hanbin loves him anyway, but he’s not Bobby and both of them know it.

 

Hanbin’s phone rings yet again, and he finally snaps, picking it up and glaring at it.  It goes to voicemail, and then immediately picks up again, buzzing furiously.  What the fuck could Junhwe possibly want from him right now?

 

“Junhwe, this had better be important.  I’m really busy.” Hanbin snaps into the receiver, cradling the phone between his shoulder and ear, reaching for another binder clip.

 

“Hanbin?”

 

Hanbin’s irritation vanishes on the spot when he registers the tone of Junhwe’s voice; it’s hoarse, strained, and he sounds scared.  Something’s wrong.  Panic floods his stomach.

 

“Junhwe, what is it?” Hanbin says, sitting up straight unconsciously.  “What’s wrong?”

 

“We’re in the hospital.” Junhwe says, and that makes Hanbin stand up altogether, his papers falling from his suddenly numb fingers into a pile on his desk.  Hanbin’s entire world closes in on him, and for a second he’s blind, deaf, light-headed.  Quickly, as if afraid Hanbin might flip out (and really, none of them know just how close he is to doing just that), Junhwe adds, “We’re okay, just banged up a little.”

 

“You’re what?  Who?  What’s going on?” Hanbin says, struggling to maintain his composure, picking up the papers on his desk distractedly, soothed not at all by Junhwe’s reassurance.  Jisoo looks up at him in surprise from across the aisle, catching some of his emotion, but Hanbin doesn’t notice her.  Every part of him is hung up on the single desperate point of the pain in Junhwe’s voice.

 

“Hospital.” Junhwe repeats, and now he sounds a little calmer.  “Jiwon stepped in front of a fucking car.” He laughs humorlessly, and Hanbin draws in a breath, though whether to scream or stop himself from passing out he can’t tell.  “He’s alright.  We’re not hurt badly.  Just a little beat up.”

 

But in Hanbin’s panicked stupefaction, only one word makes it through to his brain.  “Jiwon?  You’ve got him there with you?”

 

“Yeah.  He’s here.  Don’t worry, Hanbin, we’re okay.  Can you come see us?”

 

“I’ll be right there.” Hanbin says quickly, dropping the pile of papers on the desk and grabbing his coat from the back of his chair.  

 

“Thanks, Hanbin.”

 

Hanbin hangs up, and Jisoo looks at him incredulously. “Hanbin, what’s going on?”

 

“Jisoo, I’ve got to go.  I’ll be back tomorrow.”

 

“But where are you going?  You can’t leave now!  You’re way behind, and we’ve got an audit next week!” She protests, but Hanbin’s already halfway down the aisle, and he turns to look at her, gives her a pained look even as he’s backing toward the door.

 

“I know!  I’m sorry.  Jiwon’s in the hospital.  I’ve gotta go.”

 

“Hanbin, I understand, but—wait, Hanbin!” She gets to her feet quickly as if to pursue him, but overbalances.  Hanbin’s already got his jacket on, and he’s out the door and halfway down the stairs before she can even regain her balance.

 

It’s cold and humid outside when Hanbin emerges onto the sidewalk, low, heavy grey clouds threatening rain, and by now the shock has set in; he thrusts his trembling hands into his pockets, setting off in the direction of the hospital and forcing himself to slow into a fast walk, because he feels like he’ll lose his mind with panic if he runs, and he’s got to maintain control of at least one thing in his life.

 

*

 

All things considered, the nurse told Junhwe, the two of them could’ve come out of this situation far worse than they had.

 

Junhwe, too distracted with his stupid feelings to pay attention, hadn’t seen the oncoming car.  The traffic waiting at the light had already come to an idling halt, but a driver behind had slammed into the stopped vehicle in front of it and pushed it forward into the crosswalk; and Bobby, having seen impending disaster where Junhwe hadn’t, had shoved him out of the way, taking most of the impact himself.

 

Junhwe hadn’t been hurt badly; he’s sporting a row of fresh stitches along a nasty cut on his chin, and his palms and knees are bleeding and sore from where he’d taken the worst of the fall on a little patch of gravel.  He hadn’t even remembered falling, or being pushed.  He’d even felt angry, lurching up into a sitting position in a surge of pain and injured pride, aware only of a searing embarrassment and an ache in his hands.

 

But he’d forgotten it all when he’d seen Bobby lying still by the bumper of the car, fear and dread swarming up in him like angry hornets, a buzzing too loud to hear his own voice over.

 

Bobby, too, had come out of it worse off than Junhwe, but not seriously injured.  He’s lying propped on pillows in the hospital bed, heavily bandaged and still a little dozy from the painkillers they’d given him for his broken arm, which is painfully swollen and splinted from wrist to elbow.  He looks across at Junhwe, eyes half-lidded, and grins.

 

“Hey, look at it this way, Junhwe,” Bobby says, in a soft, slightly slurred voice, “you fell for me too!”

 

Junhwe chokes on a brittle laugh.  He doesn’t know what to say in response; his throat is clogged with guilt and the last remnants of his fear, and the place in his chest where his heart had been torn from upon seeing Bobby lying beneath the car is still aching.  “Oh god, you’re an idiot.”  He finally replies, though he laughs again when Bobby pokes him gently.

 

Bobby crosses his eyes, trying to look at the bandage that covers the shallow cut across his forehead, and then stops to blink away the headache building between his temples.

 

It’s strange to Junhwe how the walk had been so easy, everything so comfortable and open, if a little shy; now the pain and fear of the past few hours had shuttered some vulnerability between them, and their silence is tense again, expectant, each of them waiting for the other to break it and continue their discussion from earlier.

 

Bobby reaches across with his uninjured hand to take Junhwe’s fingers in his own, careful of his scraped palms.  The need and fear to tell Bobby the truth comes back in full force, tightening Junhwe’s throat paradoxically until he can’t speak.  How can he possibly give himself over to them?  It’s too frightening, too huge to comprehend, and a glimpse of the truth might be enough to make him lose himself entirely.

 

He’d been beyond surprised to realize how in love he is with the both of them.  It’d been easy, shockingly easy, to mistake his feelings for Bobby, rolling them into that which he felt for Hanbin.  Junhwe had never pursued relationships with fellow Doms after having been with Yunhyeong, and so Junhwe had chalked whatever he felt for Bobby up to rivalry, perhaps, or envy.  It had never occurred to him to learn more, simply because he’d never seen Bobby as relationship material.  Bobby just wasn’t Junhwe’s _type_.  That had been Hanbin, and it had been far more obvious.

 

And yet here it is.  Junhwe can see the difference—he knows the difference between _love_ and _in love_ , and he has both, and his heart swells with the simple truth of it all.

 

“When’s Hanbin gonna be here?  I miss him.” Bobby says idly, awkwardly, fidgeting with his phone.

 

“He said he was on his way when I called.  You were still sleeping.” Junhwe says.  “That was maybe twenty minutes ago, so he should be here soon.”

 

“What are we going to tell him?” Bobby says, looking askance at Junhwe.  Junhwe has to wonder what he means, though he has a strong suspicion that he already knows.  He asks anyway.

 

“About what?” He says cautiously.

 

Here they are again, dancing around the issue, still trying to decipher one another without opening themselves too much, in case one of them has mistaken the signals of the other.  It’s been a very, _very_ long time since either of them were concerned with the threat of rejection, and the hesitation and anxiety is almost unbearable.

 

“About all this.  You and me.  And him.” Bobby says, raising an eyebrow in disbelief, as if Junhwe’s being willfully stupid.

 

Junhwe gnaws on his lip.  “I think that’s more up to you than me.” He says, though as he says it, a memory thrusts itself upon him unbidden:  Hanbin’s mouth brushing against the base of Junhwe’s fingers, and the soft confession he’d whispered into Junhwe’s palm.  Something sudden and painful twists his heart into a knot.

 

“Will you stop saying that?” Bobby says, just a little impatiently, adjusting his head on the pillow to look at Junhwe directly.  His attention is so focused, and his expression so intense, that Junhwe looks away, shy for the first time in years.  “This isn’t just about me anymore.  And it sure as hell isn’t just about you.”

 

“Yeah.  I guess that’s true.  In that case…we should tell him the truth.”

 

“Do you still want to leave?” Bobby asks, more gently.

 

“I never wanted to leave.” Junhwe says, playing with Bobby’s fingers almost absentmindedly, still not looking at him.  “I just thought it’d fix things if I did.”

 

“Are they fixed now?”

 

“Yes.” Junhwe says, smiling up at Bobby, and Bobby beams back.

 

“So you’re sure Hanbin’s gonna be alright with this?”

 

“Completely sure.” Junhwe says, seizing onto the subject with relief.  “He was pretty obvious about it to me.”

 

“Why didn’t he say anything?” Bobby wonders aloud.

 

“Probably because he was embarrassed.  I know I was.” Junhwe says, fidgeting uncomfortably, ashamed all over again.  “Though I’m sure it would’ve been better for all of us if someone had spoken up.”

 

“Yeah.” Bobby says, squeezing Junhwe’s fingers, his eyes sliding closed briefly with tiredness.  Junhwe leans on the edge of the bed, partly lost in thought, partly struggling for words to say, and partly bone-deep tired when Bobby cracks an eye open and catches him staring.  “What are you looking at?” He prompts.

 

“The blowjob king of Seoul.” Junhwe says, snapping out of his sleepy trance at once.

 

“And how would _you_ know that?” Bobby says slyly.

 

“I don’t, but I’m looking forward to finding out if it’s true.”

 

“You know, life is tough, Junhwe, but it must be really tough when you’re stupid.” Bobby says affectionately.

 

Junhwe rubs the back of his neck in a gesture he’d learned from Bobby without knowing it.  “Well, yeah,” He says, acutely aware of Bobby watching him expectantly, and the pressure in his chest seems to double, pounding in his veins to be released.  “Yeah, I’ve been stupid, but I think I figured something out today.  I missed the chance to tell you earlier…”

 

Bobby waits, and when Junhwe hesitates, he says dryly, “You gonna tell me, or make me guess?”

 

What Junhwe means to say, neither of them are entirely sure, but what comes out probably isn’t what he’d had in mind.  “You’re a dork, Jiwon.”

 

Bobby laughs quietly, but it’s with real humor, as if he’s not half a mile away on pain medication and exhaustion.  There’s nothing dim or dopey now about Bobby’s shrewd gaze, either, when he says sweetly,  “Yeah, but you love me for it, right?”

 

Junhwe fancies there’s something hopeful, something encouraging in his tone, and he smiles at Bobby, quietly reassured.  He’s got to say it, or regret missing the chance, but it’s suddenly the easiest thing in the world to go through the door Bobby’s opened for him.  If it were any more apparent, it’d be plugged in and spinning.

 

“Yeah.  I do.”

 

Bobby raises an eyebrow, grinning so widely his eyes are thinned to slits.  He pats Junhwe on the back of the hand just a little patronizingly, too elated to be serious and maybe just a little embarrassed too, because his cheeks are suddenly warm and all of his insides seem to have melted.

 

“Aww.  And here I thought you didn’t even like me.”

 

“Let’s not get carried away, Jiwon.” Junhwe says stubbornly, though he’s smiling all over his face too, trying not to laugh with exhilaration and powerful, lightheaded relief.  His cheeks are ablaze with embarrassment, his heart pounding with a potent mixture of joy and abject terror.  “I tolerate you.”

 

“So which is it?  You love me, or you don’t?  Make up my mind, dick.” Bobby says, releasing Junhwe’s hand to tug him forward by the collar of his shirt.  He doesn’t have to try very hard, however, because Junhwe comes to him easily.  There’s only the slightest curious hesitation as Junhwe bends down, their faces a half-inch apart as if measuring one another, and then Bobby’s eyes slip closed as he kisses Junhwe.

 

Like Hanbin had learned, in spite of all they’d done before, so Bobby discovers it too:  That this time is _real_ in ways that it never had been before; no more masks, no more pretending.  Just the two of them, awaiting the arrival of the final piece of their puzzle.

 

Junhwe’s still scared, but it’s not true fear; it’s more like the shock of open air, of freedom, a wildness and absolution sweeping through him, held in the solid certainty of Bobby and Hanbin in his life.  Whatever happens now, Bobby and Hanbin belong together, and Junhwe belongs with them, too.

 

They break apart slowly, reluctantly, but stay close, with Junhwe struggling to bring himself back under control.  For all his attempts, it’s useless; his mighty discipline has slipped out of his hands, and all he can do is smile down at Bobby, who smiles back just as widely before Junhwe kisses him again.

 

Hanbin’s standing quietly outside the cracked door, and he peers into the tiny gap, brimming with happiness so profound that his cheeks ache from smiling so widely.  Part of him is ready to burst in screaming, the urgency of his relief at finding them safe driving him onward, but he reins himself in with a supreme effort of will.

 

Then he takes a step back from the door, composing himself, and brushes at his eyes.  Maybe he should go get a cup of coffee in the visitor’s center before returning.  Bobby and Junhwe don’t seem to be missing him just yet, anyway.

 

*

 

The sun goes down in a wash of rosy sky, tinted in softening, melting ribbons of carmine, of ruby and vermillion, and in spite of the warmth of the day, the night promises to be bitter cold.  The air stings their faces, swipes at their eyelids and ears as Bobby, Junhwe and Hanbin emerge from the hospital into the crisp chill of the rapidly falling evening.  And even with the cold, it’s something of a relief to be out in the fresh air again, away from the stuffy sterility and recycled air of the hospital.

 

Bobby’s in good spirits, in spite of all his injuries, which while not serious are still significant; but he hobbles along nonetheless on sore legs, mostly unassisted, humming pleasantly and holding Hanbin’s hand with his uncasted one.  His other arm rests in a sling looped around his neck, purple cast still bright and unmarked but for the tiny heart Hanbin had doodled near the elbow.  He’s bruised badly in a dozen places and still stiff with pain, but thankfully otherwise mostly unhurt, and the bruises will heal given time.

 

It’s late enough in the evening that none of them feel much like doing anything, greeting Hanbin’s suggestion of dinner with disinterest:  The stress and panic had taken its toll on all of them, and nobody’s regained their appetite yet, not even Hanbin himself; and Bobby and Junhwe are too sore and hurt to want to stay up and talk, all of their energy focused on getting home in one piece.

 

It takes a while to stagger up the stairs, Bobby wincing and breathless with each agonizing step.  Slowly, slowly, with rests on every landing and the patient assistance of the other two on either side, Bobby finally shuffles to the apartment door with a wheeze and shakes his head ruefully, but doesn’t have any breath left to complain.

 

The apartment isn’t any different from when Bobby left, and yet as they toe off their shoes and hang their jackets on the coatrack, it seems suddenly much bigger, cozier, peaceful to Junhwe’s eyes.  Bobby, by comparison, is quiet, and he seems almost embarrassed, ashamed of himself, and Hanbin too seems a little wrong-footed, as if the adjustment isn’t quite made in everyone’s mind.

 

It’s alright.  They have all the time in the world, still, to work it out, though it’d come closer than any of them are comfortable acknowledging to being cut very short today, and perhaps the gravity of that truth is what’s weighing the silence down.

 

“I’m gonna go crash.  I feel like shit.” Junhwe announces, peering around the doorjamb of Bobby and Hanbin’s bedroom.  Hanbin looks over his shoulder from where he’s settling Bobby on their bed to smile at him, a look of such affection and well-contained emotional devastation that Junhwe almost falls apart right there.  He wipes at his eyes, and with only the briefest hesitation, he moves over to kiss Hanbin’s cheek.

 

Bobby, sitting on the bed hunch-shouldered with exhaustion, glances up hopefully at Junhwe, and Junhwe grins before bending to kiss him on the cheek swiftly too.  When Junhwe straightens up, both of them are wearing the same expression, their faces very red:  Confused, strangely shy, brimming with happiness.  Bobby’s hand flies to the place where Junhwe’s lips had touched him, and he smiles.

 

“Goodnight.” Junhwe says quietly.

 

“Night, Junhwe.” Bobby says, and Junhwe pulls the door almost closed behind him, crossing the living room to his own bedroom, his head buzzing excitedly with the events of the day despite of the intense, soul-deep weariness possessing him.  He thinks he’d like nothing more to sleep, rest, process, but his head is aching with the implications of everything he’d learned today, and at the top of all of that like a flag on the summit of a hill, or the cherry on a sundae, is how he feels about Bobby.

 

He’d had time to come to terms with his feelings for Hanbin, but Bobby’s been nothing short of a surprise to him since the first day, and he’s going to need to think about this for awhile.

 

He pushes open his bedroom door and promptly trips over the half-packed box he’d left behind when Bobby had arrived earlier that day.  He pushes it to one side with his foot, determining firmly never to mention it to Hanbin, and to get unpacked at the first chance.

 

His bed is still unmade, covers and sheets bunched and rumpled, and Junhwe sits down on the edge before allowing himself to feel the fatigue and pain in his body.  He leans back carefully until he’s lying among the deep folds of the mussed covers, stretching out still clothed and groaning at the ache of his various bruises, and without the slightest transition, he’s asleep.

 

Hanbin helps Bobby undress, pulling his shirt and jeans off, alert in every sense for Bobby’s injuries.  Bobby grits his teeth and says nothing as Hanbin tugs each item of clothing off, and then tucks the blankets and sheets around him solicitously.

 

He thinks his heart might burst with how full it is, with the pain of how much he’d missed Bobby, and there are tears in his eyes when he crawls into bed next to Bobby’s warmth.  Bobby sees, and he reaches to Hanbin with his uninjured hand, cupping Hanbin’s face and brushing the tears that spill down his cheek away with a thumb.  “Hey, don’t cry, baby.  I’m alright.  I’m here.” Bobby says, though his voice is thick with suppressed emotion too.  “I’m home.”

 

Hanbin nods, wiping his nose on the back of his hand, but he can’t stop the tears, which pour ever more rapidly down his cheeks as he chokes on the flood of reaction he’d muzzled all day; all the joy, all the fear, all the pain and relief comes streaming down his face, his breath coming in great rasping sobs.  Bobby had been the missing piece, the thing to make everything right, the final join to the whole; and there’s never been anything more right than Bobby coming home, lying warm and solid and real next to Hanbin.

 

Hanbin lies down on the pillow next to Bobby, drawing some strength from his warmth, still struggling to bring his breathing back under control.  Bobby closes his eyes, bringing Hanbin’s hand up to kiss his palm, the tips of his fingers.  There’s no need to speak; they’ll have all of tomorrow to do just that.  For tonight, it’s enough that they’re together.

 

*

 

Morning dawns as bright and clear and cold as a diamond, and Bobby wakes alone, aching in every part of him, with Hanbin’s side of the bed cool and the morning sun peering cheerfully into the window.  He blinks himself more awake, his head pounding.  He can hear Hanbin stumping about upstairs in the loft and the sound of the TV in the living room, and after another minute of blinking, adjusting, rubbing his eyes, he sees Junhwe through the door, taking his breakfast dishes into the kitchen.

 

“Hey, Junhwe.” Bobby calls, hailing Junhwe with his uninjured arm when he spots him.  Junhwe returns after a moment, appearing in the doorway, half-dressed in collared shirt and slacks for work but still sleepy-eyed and tousle-haired, coffee cup equipped and steaming in his left hand.  An ugly purple bruise as vivid and clear as a wine stain had surfaced on his handsome face during the night, blotchy and unsettling along his jaw and around the stitches sticking from his chin like a bad shave job.  However, it doesn’t seem to be bothering him, and he leans casually against the door frame, taking a sip of coffee and regarding Bobby with something like amusement.

 

“Mind helping me out of bed?” Bobby says, when Junhwe continues to watch him.

 

“I saw you walk all the way home yesterday without so much as a crutch.  You telling me your legs broke during the night?” He teases.  “Or do you just want me to carry you?  That might not go well for either of us, to be honest.”

 

“I’m too stiff to move.” Bobby says through gritted teeth, trying and failing to sit up with the depths of his exhaustion.  Junhwe watches Bobby struggle like a turtle on its back for a moment longer before taking pity on him.

 

“Ho ho.  Stiff, huh?” Junhwe says, offering his arm to Bobby, who pulls himself up painfully and onto unsteady legs.

 

“Har har.” Bobby grunts, partly with pain, partly unimpressed by Junhwe’s joke.  He feels every single one of his own bruises and strained muscles this morning, and he staggers into the kitchen still clinging to Junhwe’s arm with only the barest of pained groans.

 

Hanbin comes down the stairs, too, still in his pink pajamas and sock feet, and on his way into the bedroom to gather up the rest of the laundry that had piled up in Bobby’s absence, he pauses to kiss Bobby on the cheek in passing, laying a warm hand softly on the back of Bobby’s neck.  Bobby brightens at once, his eyes slipping closed with pleasure, and he grins.  “Morning.” Hanbin hums.

 

“Hi.”

 

“You want some coffee, princess?  Breakfast?  Shall I feed you?” Junhwe says, maneuvering Bobby onto the sofa, where he’ll be more comfortable than in the hard chairs of the dining table.

 

“Not if you made breakfast.” Bobby says darkly.  Junhwe tries to look severe in response, but the glitter of amusement in his eyes gives him away.

 

“Hey, I’ve been learning how to cook from Hanbin.  I’ll have you know, I haven’t burned a thing in almost a week.”

 

“You haven’t cooked anything in a week.” Hanbin calls from the bedroom.  

 

Junhwe shrugs, looking sheepish at being called out, but he rallies almost at once.  “Hey, don’t ruin this for me!  I’m trying to make myself marketable to you guys.”  

 

Bobby can’t help it; he laughs.  It’s almost as if the past few weeks hadn’t happened at all; it’s incredible how naturally the three of them seem to fit in together, as if nothing had ever changed, and there’s a clarity to everything that hadn’t been there before.  Clarity, and softness, and, as obvious as the bruise on Junhwe’s face, _love_.

 

“Doting on me is a good start.” Bobby says slyly.  “And just coffee for now, thanks.”

 

Junhwe pours Bobby a cup of coffee and takes it over to him on the couch.  Hanbin leans against the door frame, arms full of laundry, and grins when Bobby slaps Junhwe lightly on the butt as he leaves.

 

“Aren’t you going to work, Hanbin?” Junhwe says finally, picking up his tie from the back of a dining room chair and settling the knot with a single swift tug.  Hanbin grins over his shoulder as he picks his way up the stairs, trailing dirty socks and t-shirts.

 

“No, I called in first thing to stay home and help take care of Jiwon for a day or so.”

 

“Oh.” Junhwe says, shrugging on his suit jacket and glancing guiltily at Bobby.  When Hanbin comes back, Junhwe says, “I’m sorry, I should’ve thought of that too.”

 

“No, it’s okay.” Hanbin shakes his head, still smiling.  “I thought maybe he and I needed a little time to talk together.  That’s all.”

 

“Course.” Junhwe says at once, nodding.  “I’ve already had my turn to talk it over with both of you.  Don’t talk too badly about me behind my back, okay?”

 

Hanbin reaches out, and he wraps Junhwe in a hug that’s far too tight for his aching muscles, but Junhwe doesn’t object, and wouldn’t even if Hanbin was really hurting him.  It’s all love, all affection in Hanbin’s head tucked into Junhwe’s shoulder and the press of Junhwe’s lips against Hanbin’s temple, and then Hanbin releases him with a little smile of relief.

 

There’s no pain, no fear now.  Not even desire.  Just love, and a little bit of uncertainty that isn’t Junhwe’s responsibility to fix.

 

And once, not all that long ago, Bobby had been achingly, sickeningly jealous of such a display; even now, he’s not entirely sure how this is supposed to work.  They hadn’t made any agreements or had any open discussion together; they’d simply come to a mutual realization, an understanding of one another, cautiously seeking out the firm footing of that stepping stone into the future, with the three of them together, as it should be.

 

Bobby heaves himself onto his feet stiffly, partly in search of a fresh cup of coffee, partly because he wants to be involved in what’s going on across the room.  The boundaries are blurred now, uncertain but hopeful, the swift changes taking place in their relationship throwing Bobby off-balance; and he’s not sure how to tell Junhwe that it’s okay with him, too, that he might like to be touched like that.  They’d kissed yesterday, but today is a new day, and Bobby’s a little shy in the face of so many new avenues.

 

He shuffles forward stiffly until he’s next to Junhwe, leaning against him briefly, and Junhwe wraps an arm around Bobby’s shoulders briefly, kissing him on the cheek too.  Bobby almost laughs with sheer giddy surprise, but controls it at the last moment, flushing instead with pleasure.

 

“I’ve gotta get to work.  Have a good day.” Junhwe says, giving Bobby another little squeeze and then disengaging himself gently before collecting his briefcase from beneath the coatrack.  With a little wave, he’s gone, closing the door quietly behind himself.

 

Hanbin retrieves Bobby’s coffee cup from the sofa, pouring them both a refill, and now that Junhwe’s gone, a strange and serious tension settles in the room like fog.  It’s almost awkward now, curious and uncomfortable, though not threatening.  Bobby makes his way slowly back to the couch, and Hanbin follows after with a hot cup in each hand, sitting down next to him a short distance away, in order to afford Bobby some space.

 

They’re still quiet, Bobby watching Hanbin curiously, and Hanbin takes a sip of coffee before sighing with resignation.  “I feel like we should talk about this.  We were too tired last night, but you and I haven’t had the chance yet.”

 

“Yeah.” Bobby says quietly, nodding.  He sets his coffee cup on the arm of the sofa, reaching across himself to take Hanbin’s hand in his own.  “It’s been a confusing couple of days.  I missed you, Hanbin.”

 

“I missed you too.” Hanbin bites his lip, but manages to stifle his rising emotions and gulp them back into a tight lump in his throat, where they buzz inside him angrily, painfully, like he’d swallowed a hornet’s nest.

 

“I’m really sorry, Bin.”

 

“I’m sorry too,” Hanbin says.  “It was my fault.”

 

“Shh.  No, it wasn’t.  Doesn’t matter.” Bobby says gently.  “We have forever to argue about whose fault it was, but it’s not important.  I forgive you.”

 

Hanbin jerks his hand back suddenly to stifle a sob into his cupped palm, his coffee swimming dangerously in the cup balanced on his knee.  He hastily wipes his eyes on his grubby shirtsleeve, and he gives Bobby his best watery smile.

 

“What did you and Junhwe talk about yesterday?” Hanbin says in a high-pitched voice, if only to take attention away from himself; he’s finding it harder and harder to control himself, fighting it down ruthlessly in one place only for it to bubble up in another, and a distraction might help.

 

“Lots of things.” Bobby says thoughtfully.  “I came home, hoping you were here, but I found Junhwe instead.  We went for a walk.  A lot happened while I was gone.”

 

Clumsily, he collects his story into order, trying to recall all the details of his talk with Donghyuk, of Minho’s confirmation of it all, and the resultant epiphany he’d uncovered in himself; and how he’d tried so hard, first to hide from it, then to avoid it, then to fight it.  He’d been backed into a corner, forced to face it down or die in its clutches, and it had been the hardest moment of his life to release his grip on his own pride and open himself once more to Junhwe.

 

It’d been so much easier the first time; in his ignorance, not knowing how much of himself he’d given to Junhwe up until that point, his vulnerability had been natural, unconscious.  It’d been so much harder to _know_ , to open himself intentionally.  In ignorance, their connection had been a thrilling glimpse of a distant firework; their deliberateness had been the flame, and it’d made their tenuous link much stronger, more purposeful, truer.

 

“Did you tell him?” Hanbin says quietly, when Bobby finishes his story.  “That you love him, I mean.”

 

“Yeah.  Well, kind of?  I mean, it wasn’t easy, but I think we understand each other.” Bobby says, his expression pained.  He sounds almost defensive when he adds, “But—it doesn’t, I mean—I still love _you_ , Hanbin—”

 

Hanbin touches Bobby’s lips gently to interrupt his babbling, and Bobby falls silent at once, swallowing back the rush of words.  “What did he say?”

 

“He actually kind of said it first, but I gave him the opening.” Bobby says, grinning, warm all over at the memory.  Hanbin grins too, and then Bobby looks over at him, reaching up to brush Hanbin’s cheek with his fingertips.  “Your turn to tell me what happened.”

 

Hanbin tells his own story in turn, and Junhwe’s, trying not to get sidetracked when Bobby adds in a dozen curious questions.

 

“What, he said it to you too?” Bobby says in surprise, raising one eyebrow when Hanbin tells Bobby about their first night after Bobby had left, and Junhwe’s confession to him.

 

“The same day you left.” Hanbin says, fidgeting with embarrassment.  “It made sense of a lot of things.”

 

“That slut.” Bobby says affectionately, and Hanbin can’t help but laugh.  Bobby sets his coffee cup on the arm of the couch and pulls Hanbin into him again with his free hand, and Hanbin comes to him so easily, warm and generous and soft as he ever was, heartbreakingly so.  He holds Bobby’s face between both hands, whispering love into his hair, as if to press Bobby into his heart.  “I love you, Bin.” Bobby murmurs.

 

“I love you.” Hanbin replies, and there are hot tears on his cheeks again, though this time he makes no effort to wipe them away.  “And Junhwe?”

 

“Him, too.”

 

“He _fits_ , doesn’t he?” Hanbin muses.  “With us.  He really fits.”

 

“God, yes.” Bobby whispers.  “I don’t know how, but he does.”

 

“We’ve got lots of time to figure it out.” Hanbin says, and Bobby kisses him again and again.

 

There’s still so much to discuss, much to forgive, much yet to learn; but for now, it’s enough that they’re here, together.  They have hours, days, months, maybe years to learn, and build, and grow.  Together.

  
And, well—if Hanbin’s going to be loved by anyone besides himself—if anyone besides Hanbin is going to love Bobby—Bobby’s glad it’s someone like Junhwe.  

 


	26. Epilogue

Bobby and Hanbin are married in the spring.

 

It’s on a perfect May morning, brilliant and clear and sunny; the branches of the high-reaching orchard trees overhead are heavily laden with fragrant pink apple blossoms, a soft breeze stirring the scent around the little wedding party clustered under the dappled shade.

 

Hanbin’s dressed in all white, and he’s radiant with happiness, glowing with pride and pleasure as he looks at Bobby standing across from him on the altar.  Bobby succumbs to tears early on, but that doesn’t stop him from smiling back at Hanbin anyway, gracelessly wiping his nose on his suit sleeve.

 

Beside Bobby and Hanbin on either side are the Best Men, Junhwe and Donghyuk, dressed in impeccable black with clusters of deeply purple flowers pinned to their lapels.  Both are smiling widely, brimming with the shared joy that permeates the very air around them.  In the front row of the audience, Yunhyeong sobs unabashedly into Minho’s shoulder, and Minho tries not to look too amused, patting him on the shoulder and offering him a tissue when Yunhyeong begins to wail outright.

 

Everything goes off without complication.  The reception afterward is laid out in the orchard itself, in the fragrant warmth of the spring afternoon; and for a moment it seems like a soft fairytale, like a dream, as if they’d imagined it all.  Bobby catches Hanbin’s eye over the cutting of the cake, and the two of them collapse into giddy laughter, for all the world as if surprised and flustered by their own recklessness.

 

But the best surprise yet comes when Junhwe kneels down between them at the head of the table, slinging his arms around Bobby’s and Hanbin’s shoulders affectionately.  He can’t kiss them here, though he wants to, and they all know it.  No matter; the three of them will celebrate in full tonight behind closed doors.

 

“I hope you don’t mind if I don’t buy you a blender.” Junhwe says.

 

“Wait, are you saying you didn’t buy us a present?” Hanbin responds in mock indignation.

 

“Yeah, I thought you were our boyfriend.” Bobby adds in an undertone, grinning.

 

“How about, I bought your honeymoon?” Junhwe says slyly, and Hanbin chokes on the piece of wedding cake Bobby’s just fed him.

 

_The First Anniversary: One Year Later_

 

It takes almost a year for the three of them to get their proverbial shit together after the wedding, but it doesn’t matter.  

 

It wouldn’t have taken so long, but Bobby and Hanbin had been insistent that Junhwe accompany them to Saipan for the honeymoon, and Junhwe had refused; this was _their_ trip, their gift from him, and he maintained he had no right to come along.  Bobby and Hanbin tried polite requests, and then gentle persuasion, and finally outright threats, but Junhwe had stoutly vetoed them all, right up until Bobby had surprised him with a ticket of his own.  

 

Only then had Junhwe capitulated, though truth be told, he’d quietly wanted to go more than anything, and had only protested out of a sense of propriety.  Bobby, however, doesn’t believe in propriety, luckily for them.

 

Hanbin had come incredibly close to being fired from walking out of his job after Bobby’s accident, only for Bobby’s newest single fresh out of production to strike it rich, and that had given them all the reason they needed for Hanbin to quit outright and take up a happier job with a smaller company, because they could now afford to.

 

Bobby’s royalties had also paid off so well that he’d bought the three of them a bigger house to live in, paid up in full and so new it still smells of paint and wood; and although as far as houses go, it’s very modestly sized, and yet large enough even for Junhwe to have built his own private dungeon, and begin running his (shockingly successful) business from that sectioned-off area of the house.  (V had already visited him twice, and even brought along his new boyfriend for the most recent session, to Junhwe’s delight.)

 

Junhwe takes a last look around the place, and it seems much larger and emptier without Bobby and Hanbin taking up room, their sparse furniture and tiny picture frames small and out of place in the more spacious living room.  He takes a last look around, almost a little lonely at the thought of leaving their new house, and picks up his suitcase.

 

Bobby and Hanbin are waiting for Junhwe at the airport, and it wouldn’t do to show up late, so Junhwe locks the door behind him.  He’s already looking forward to the balmy weather and the smell of salt and fresh air, the three of them golden in the sun and sand, Hanbin’s caramel skin a shade darker and Bobby’s wild hair streaked with bronze and coarse with dried saltwater.

 

Saipan doesn’t disappoint, either.  A long, cloudy, drizzly spring in Seoul finally gives way to the gloriously warm, brilliantly sunny weather, with breathtakingly wide blue skies dotted here and there with little white clouds like scoops of ice cream.  Hanbin shivers with pleasure at the touch of sun on his bare skin, feels like a hundred years of cold is wiped away in an instant.

 

And they waste no time, checking into the hotel and then proceeding straight to the beach, where Bobby and Hanbin learn to their surprise that Junhwe’s afraid of the ocean, and spend awhile coaxing him into the water with them.  Junhwe’s cautious, but trusting, and eventually Bobby convinces him to try the snorkel; Junhwe surfaces after only a moment bursting with both panic and elation.  “Did you see the fish?!” He exclaims excitedly, even as he scrambles backward out of the water, spitting seawater everywhere.

 

As the day goes on, however, Junhwe becomes quieter and more withdrawn, though Bobby and Hanbin don’t realize until dinner.  It isn’t something _wrong_ , not quite, but Junhwe doesn’t know what it is exactly he’s feeling, either; something not quite jealousy and not quite greed, but more complicated than either.  It’s happy, and wistful, and awkward all at once.  Distracted as he is in trying to decide what’s gotten under his skin, he doesn’t notice that he’s gone quiet either.

 

“Junhwe?  You okay?” Hanbin says quietly across the table, when Junhwe merely pokes moodily at the tofu in his _kitsune-soba_.  Junhwe looks up, chopsticks held loosely in his hand, honestly surprised to find Hanbin looking at him in concern and Bobby frowning at him too, as if coming to a conclusion of his own.

 

“Yeah, I’m okay.  A little tired after the flight.” He says, smiling, though this isn’t quite true either.  Junhwe’s eyes dart to Bobby briefly before he says, “That…and, well, I guess I’m a little bit envious.”

 

“Of what?” Bobby says, eyebrows rising.

 

Junhwe shrugs out of pure helplessness.  He doesn’t feel excluded nor overshadowed; no, Bobby and Hanbin have made him part of their family for the past year, and this is no exception.  Hell, their insistence on his accompanying them had proved that, if nothing else.

 

“I just still feel like I’m intruding on your honeymoon.  You guys are married, and I’m… _not_.  Not that I’m mad or anything, I just feel a little out of place.  The boyfriend in tow, you know.”

 

“Of course you aren’t!” Hanbin says at once, looking shocked.

 

Bobby chuckles.  “Did you think we invited you for decoration?” He jokes, but the smile slides off his face at Junhwe’s expression, and he sobers quickly.  “Junhwe…we _wanted_ you to come.”

 

“No, I know.” Junhwe nods, looking between Bobby and Hanbin.  “I just…I don’t know.  I’ve been feeling weird since I got here.”

 

“Was it something we did?  How can we help?” Bobby says.

 

Junhwe shrugs again, just as helplessly as the first time.  “No, you didn’t do anything.  I don’t really know what’s wrong.  But if I figure it out, you’ll be the first to know.”

 

“Alright.” Hanbin says, satisfied, nodding before returning to his food with one last concerned look at Junhwe.

 

The rest of dinner passes in peaceable silence, and then while Bobby is paying (since he chose what to eat), Junhwe excuses himself to the bathroom.  Bobby holds the door for Hanbin, and Hanbin squints in the tempered glare of the warm evening sun, still a handsbreadth above the horizon and a stunning, scorching red through the sea clouds, the seabreeze still fresh and clean along their bare skin.

 

Waiting together on the sidewalk, Bobby leans against Hanbin’s shoulder.  “You brought it, right?” He says seriously.

 

“Yes, I did.  I wouldn’t forget something like that.” Hanbin says.  “Are you nervous?”

 

“Of course I’m nervous.” Bobby says, fidgeting with the hem of his t-shirt.  “But I was nervous with you too.”

 

“What exactly are you worried about?  I thought you were pretty sure about the answer.”

 

“I am.” Bobby says, a little desperately.  “But oh, I don’t _know_ , Hanbin; it’s a complete surprise.  What if…”

 

“Hey.  Jiwon.” Hanbin interrupts, leaning conspiratorially close, and his voice is soft and reassuring.  “It’s going to be perfect.  Don’t be nervous.   _You’re_ perfect.  I’ll do it, if you want.”

 

“I’m naturally a nervous person.”

 

“Now, that is the biggest lie I have ever heard from you, and you’ve told me some whoppers.”

 

“I’ve never lied to you!” Bobby protests.

 

“Uh huh, sure you haven’t.  You were nineteen with an internet connection once, I know you have.  Just because I haven’t whipped out a ruler doesn’t mean I can’t tell the difference between eight inches and five.  But even if I noticed, I’m too much of a gentleman to admit it.” Hanbin says, and Bobby laughs, squirming when Hanbin slings an arm around his shoulders and tickles him.

 

Presently, Junhwe emerges from the restaurant too, and the three of them drift peaceably down the boulevard, stopping for ice cream cones for dessert; then, drawn inexplicably to the ocean, which is being very well-behaved tonight, they take the long way back to the hotel along the beach.

 

There’s still the slightest tension in the air between them; Junhwe’s used to seeing and keeping secrets, and Bobby and Hanbin are keeping a secret from him.  It unsettles him further, knocking his heart down a notch in his chest; what could they possibly be hiding?  

 

With an effort, Junhwe makes himself focus on the scenery, and where Bobby reaches across and takes Junhwe’s hand in his own as they walk through the wet sand, cool foamy waves sloshing pleasantly around their feet while Hanbin pauses here and there to collect shells and pebbles.

 

The sun is low on the horizon by now, the last sliver of it glowing like an ember above the darkening ocean, and Bobby sits down beneath a lazily-waving palm tree to enjoy the last of it.  Junhwe sits down between Bobby and Hanbin, digging his toes into the still-warm sand, and closes his eyes lazily.  Hanbin’s hand rests companionably on Junhwe’s forearm, and Junhwe relaxes just a bit, feeling a little more at peace now.  If their secret was bad or unhappy, Junhwe tells himself not altogether convincingly, then they might’ve withdrawn their affection, or left him at home.  It’d be a fine thing to dump him in another country on vacation.  

 

Somehow, Junhwe doesn’t think that’s it, but he can’t for his life guess what it might be instead.

 

He watches the sun sink with half-closed eyes, and then Bobby moves uncomfortably beside him; there’s something suspicious or nervous about the motion that garners Junhwe’s attention, and then he spots Bobby’s expression:  Shy, vulnerable, eager.  Junhwe’s heart suddenly begins to bound off his breastbone, because he’s seen that look on Bobby before.

 

Bobby’s face is awash with red—the last light of the sunset, and a flush high in his cheeks, as he produces a small black velvet box from his pocket.  Junhwe’s racing heart falters, tripping over itself before coming to a dead halt.

 

“So, uh, Junhwe,” Bobby begins in a soft voice that cracks with nerves, but Junhwe’s already tensed with sheer reaction, his mind buzzing with shock and joy and overwhelming anticipation.  The best secret, a _wonderful_ secret, and Junhwe hadn’t even seen it coming.  “We…I know it’s kinda…we were planning to wait until after Saipan, but we thought now would be better.  I know it can’t be official like this, but…Junhwe, we…”

 

Bobby’s tripping over his words, not quite looking Junhwe in the eye, his face ablaze now with sheepish joy and the determination to keep talking; he’d been right in what he’d said to Hanbin earlier—this is _much_ harder than it’d been to propose to Hanbin.  Finally he shuts up, and then he pops open the little box to reveal a gold ring nestled in black velvet, identical in every detail to Bobby’s and Hanbin’s right down to the green stone set along the edge.

 

Junhwe can’t breathe, can’t speak, and his hands fly to his face to cover his mouth as his next breath comes in hooked on a sob, tearing something deep and precious out of his heart to lodge in his throat.  Tears scald his eyes and spill down his cheeks before he can even begin to collect himself into a response.  Hanbin’s hand sneaks onto his lap, maybe in reassurance, or encouragement, or hopeful insecurity.   _Please say yes._

 

Finally Junhwe shakes his head, not to say _no_ but out of sheer helplessness, and he hiccups in an effort to control his voice, which comes out embarrassingly high-pitched and weak.  “So you found me a husband already, huh?” He says.

 

“Two of ‘em, actually.  Don’t forget me.” Hanbin says, grinning, his own eyes glittering with tears that he brushes away impatiently.  Bobby grins at Junhwe, prying the little ring out of its velvet holder and holding it up in silent offer.

 

Junhwe holds out his shaking left hand, and Bobby (with some difficulty, given Junhwe’s trembling) places the ring on Junhwe’s finger gently, where it settles into place like it’s always belonged there.  And maybe it has, and it’d just taken them this long to figure it out.

 

Hanbin leans over, hooking his chin on Junhwe’s shoulder and speaking softly against his ear.  “Just gotta do one thing for us, Junhwe.”

 

“What?”

 

“Say yes.”

 

And Junhwe wonders how the hell he would’ve, could’ve, ever said anything but.  “Yes!”

 

*****

 

Junhwe collapses onto his back, winded and panting, and bounces once or twice against the mattress.  In a flash, Bobby’s on top of him, holding him down by the wrists, and Junhwe squirms while Bobby carefully pulls the ring off Junhwe’s left hand and sets it by his own on the nightstand.

 

“Safety first, _Master_.” Bobby says smugly, reaching his free hand out for the length of rope Hanbin passes him and shaking it out over the edge of the bed.

 

“If only you knew how hot that gets me.” Junhwe says blandly, sounding unimpressed, and Bobby laughs again.

 

“Oh, I can tell.” Bobby says.  “Don’t give in on me now.  You don’t want me thinking you’re enjoying this.”

 

“Didn’t I just say I was?” Junhwe says, squirming to emphasize the point, but Bobby’s quicker than ever with the rope, and Junhwe finds himself bound to the bedposts before he can so much as blink, or so it seems.  “You’re only getting away with this because I’m not strong enough to push you off.” He says breathlessly, though he makes no real move to back up his protests.

 

“Oh, sure, _that’s_ what it is.” Bobby mocks, pushing Junhwe’s legs apart to kneel between them.  “You could if you _wanted_ to…”

 

“C’mon, Hanbin, little help here?” Junhwe says, writhing a little more enthusiastically, but Bobby’s been taught by the best, and there’s no escape possible.  He’s entirely at Bobby’s mercy.

 

Somehow, this fact doesn’t bother Junhwe as much as he thought it might.

 

“Mmmm…yeah, I don’t think so, Junhwe.” Hanbin peers over Bobby’s shoulder, flushed and cheeky, and though Junhwe can only see his eyes, he knows Hanbin’s smiling.  “I’m still sore from last night.  You’re on your own today.”

 

Bobby arches over Junhwe, outlandishly strong, overwhelming, aggressive.  Junhwe’s taught him well—perhaps a little too well, if his racing heart is anything to go by.  He turns his head playfully from side to side, dodging Bobby’s kisses; in retaliation, Bobby slips a hand beneath the back of his neck, thumb pressed firmly against Junhwe’s jawline to hold him steady, and only then does Junhwe consent to kiss him.  At the same time, Hanbin moves to lie down next to Junhwe, burying his face in Junhwe’s neck to nibble at the sensitive flesh there.  Junhwe’s resultant moan is loud and unrestrained into Bobby’s mouth.

 

If any of them are aware of how odd, how complicated their relationship is, it doesn’t matter, and certainly not right now.  Two’s company, but three isn’t so much a crowd as a magic number; what matters is that they’re together, and perhaps it helps that they’re all a little crazy.  

 

Love, after all, is the most effective tool at dissolving those old obstructions of reason and sanity.  Love, never the same twice, and never equal or even similar to that of those around you; it can take any number of forms at the same time, and encompass any number of people—and they wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

**FIN**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness, you guys! What a ride this has been. Six months of my life down the toilet (just kidding). I am so, so grateful to every one of you who’ve been with me for the whole of it.
> 
> Would any of you believe this is my first longfic EVER?? I literally have never written ( ~~cough, completed~~ ) a long fanfic in my life.
> 
> I’d be remiss in not mentioning katzengefluster, who is responsible for about 95% of this fic, and her unwavering support as muse, proofreader, and cheerleader while I struggled through it. This fic would never have existed without her help, and if it did, it wouldn’t have been nearly as good. I love you, bro! <3
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed bringing it to you. Thank you, thank you for all your support, all of you. <333

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Caught (I got somewhere we can go to unwind)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12049665) by [noona_in_too_deep](https://archiveofourown.org/users/noona_in_too_deep/pseuds/noona_in_too_deep)




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